Wollongong
by switchonlights
Summary: "I dated this doctor, back in Aus, a resident who told me my femur was broken. Interesting diagnosis considering there was a bone poking out of my arm at the time."
1. Chapter 1

"I was happy House. A social worker quit, I wasn't going to hire another one, save some money. Then you know what happened?"

House eyes Cuddy leaning over her desk. "I assume it has something to do with me, or I wouldn't be here."

"Then you almost get sued for the third time this year-"

"Fourth."

"Fourth time this year, and the board wants a social worker on _all _your cases now."

"Oh please, it was just a little mix up."

"A little mix up? He could have died!"

"And I saved his life!"

Their voices have been slowly escalating and House's reaches the peak. A moment of absolute silence follows as they stare at each other.

"She's coming in, House, _today,_" Cuddy says calmly, smoothing her skirt as she sits. "Bowen Harding. Nice girl. You won't be able to break her."

"Oh, we'll see about that. Now, are we done here, or you going to slap my hand some more?"

Cuddy just ignores him, and he takes that as his cue to leave.

He's walking towards the elevator, considering whether or not to hide in the clinic and get the hours done with early when a broad Australian accent assaults him.

"You Dr House then?"

He glances down; the woman does not look like her voice. Her round, heart shaped face is tilted up at him questioningly. Her brown hair is bleached with sun, and poorly curled.

"What, no khaki safari vest?" he quips.

She laughs, glancing down at the blazer and ill-fitting pencil skirt. "Sorry, left it outside with the kangaroo. I'm Bo Harding, the new-"

"I know who you are. Question is, how'd you know who I was?"

"Bloke in HR told me to look for a grumpy bastard with a cane."

He looks at her suspiciously. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Can't imagine. Just moved down here from Penn. Before that I was Australia."

"Social worker?"

She smirks as they enter the elevator. "Kitesurfer."

"How does a kitesurfer become a social worker?"

She laughs again. "So you diagnose weird illnesses, yeah?"

"And you stop me from killing people."

"Nah. I just make sure they know about it first."

They step out of the elevator, her shoes shushing softly as they hit the ground before her heels.

"Just what I need in my life: another Aussie sense of humor."

They reach the office, all glass and clean lines. His desk is cluttered with superfluous items, but the other room has only papers, books, and coffee. Two figures - a men and a woman - lounge in chairs, speaking in calm voices with quiet hand gestures.

"Everyone, welcome Cuddy's newest spy," House announces, flinging open the door.

"The social worker? Eric Foreman." One of the men stands and holds out a hand.

"Bowen Harding, lovely to meet you." She has a firm grip and a bright smile.

"Allison Cameron, nice to meet you."

"You as well."

"So you're here to make sure we don't almost kill anyone else?" Foreman asks, leaning back in his chair.

"The number of times I've been asked that this morning really makes me think I've got my work cut out for me."

"You really do. Patients don't tend to like doctors when they get things wrong."

"Oh, I dunno. I once dated one after he wrongly told me my femur was broken."

Cameron chuckles. "How d'you get that wrong?"

"Yeah, considering the bone poking out of my shoulder at the time, I have no clue."

The two doctors laugh.

"What about you Chase?" House asks loudly and sarcastically as the door snicks open. "You ever confuse a femur and a humorous?"

"Yeah, actually. I was a resident in Sydney working in the ER and this girl came in-"

"Robert." It only took a moment after the voice began for Harding to turn around, and now she stares.

"-in a bikini…" Chase trails off, mouth open, eyes wide. "What are you doing here?" He's not surprised, or if he is, he does a very good job of concealing it with anger.

Her face moves through a progression of shades: pale to flushed. "I work here now."

Cameron looks baffled. "Do you two know each other?"

"Well obviously he confused her femur and humorous," House says. "Nothing like a pretty girl in a swimsuit to make you forget kindergarten level anatomy."

They were still staring at each other. "You're a doctor?"

"Social worker."

"Hm." His face hardens as he turns to House. "Case just came in. Sixteen year old female with bloody vaginal discharge and intense abdomen pain."

House stares. "Is she wearing a swimsuit? Or perhaps you need a review?"

Chase rolls his eyes. "Not on her period. Also no tumors, no visible tears."

"Also she's sixteen. Even invisible tumors…" House holds his hand out for the file. "You, go make sure this girl's parents can read paperwork."

Normally, Harding would have something to say about how she doesn't work for him, but desperation to escape the room wins out.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm still not sure why we need a social worker," the woman said, clutching at her daughter's hand.

"Mrs Hepburn, I assure you, I'm not the kind you're thinking of. I'm not child welfare, but medical. My job is to make sure you understand what the doctors are telling you, and that they understand what you're telling them." Harding tries to smile through her irritation. "Perhaps intermediary is a better word than social worker. Think of me as your ambassador to the hospital."

The girl lying in the bed groans, and clutches her stomach. Her face is ashen, hands trembling.

"Wendy, love, you all right?" Harding crouches by her side.

The girl speaks weakly. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be dramatic, but -"

"But it's like the period from hell?"

"Yeah, a little."

The mom runs off to find a nurse.

"Well, I'm sure the doctors will get you on something soon, but until then -" she winks, "swearing always helps."

"Nah, I prefer to keep my mind off it."

"You want me to sit here and tell you embarrassing stories? Other people's pain is medically proven to be the best remedy."

"Okay, so I'm from this place called Wollongong, right?" Harding grabs the stood and straddles it in an unladylike manner. "Boring as all shit, but there are some great beaches when tourists aren't everywhere. So it's the middle of goddamn tourist season, like, right after Christmas, and I'm in the water. You ever hear of kitesurfing?" Wendy shakes her head. "So basically, I'm in a bikini, with a harness wrapped around me that's attached to, like, a parachute, and my feet are on a board. Keep in mind, that it's my first time ever doing this. I'm fucking fourteen."

She continues to tell the story in a hushed voice, abbreviating the less professional words once a nurse and the mother return. By the time she reaches the point where fourteen year old Bo is skipping across the surface of the water with her tits hanging out, Wendy is laughing so hard, tears fill her eyes.

"Oh God. Did he finally get you down?"

"Yeah, thank eff. But not before half the country got a good look-see."

Wendy falls into laughing again.

"Wendy?" Chase appears behind Harding. "I'm Dr Chase. I'm just gonna get you started on some painkillers, okay?"

"Only thing better than other people's pain is actual medicine," Harding says, squeezing Wendy's hand. "I'll see ya later, all right?"

She brushes by Chase, her face flaming once more. Wendy's voice continues, speaking to Chase as he hooks up her IV.

"So, are you from Australia too?"

"Yeah, from Sydney."

"Is that why you have different sounding accents?"

"Australian accents aren't regional; she's from only eighty kilometres south…"

Harding speeds her pace, pausing once she's turned the corner to lean agains the wall and breathe hard, to try and get the splotchy red around her eyes to go away.

_In. Out. In. Out. _She concentrates on her breathing. Closing her eyes, she pictures the ocean, the waves, the wind trying to pull her hair from her bun as it tugs her along, that feeling of flying as you bend your knees and let the sail pull you up.

"We need to talk."

The feeling dissipates with his voice. She opens her eyes only to battle the anxiety once more, the feeling of nails chewed to the quick.

But at the same time she can't help but stare at him, too take in his face like a long drink. He looks like a school boy: sloppily done tie, long hair, straight nose, lips that are just too pink.

"Wally, did you hear me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, ya right." she bites her lip at the absence of kindness in his voice. "It's a bit overdue."

"D'you want to get some coffee tonight?"

"I can't, I've got to- Well, that's something we've got to talk about, I guess. D'you have lunch off?"

"I do if no one's dying."

"Well, we'll hope no one is then." She gives a watery smile and tries to move past him, but he stops her.

"Wally, don't let House see you upset. He's not…the most understanding person."

"Well we both know I'm a bit of a c-nt too, so I think I'll survive." She pauses, eyes scanning his face. "Thanks, though. I'll keep that in mind."

She doesn't notice they way his hand twitches as she walks away, as if he wants to reach out into the past and never let her go.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Holy mother-fucker, cock-sucking, c-nt-ridden-"_

_ The blond head looks up from where it was disinfecting the wound."Hurts then?" _

_ Harding glares at the young doctor. "No it's a fucking walk in the park." _

_ They're in a division off of the ER. Harding's sitting up despite all suggestions, shooting daggers at the bone poking out of her arm. She's always surprised by how red blood is. _

_ "You're actually surprisingly coherent. I've seen men reduced to tears." _

_ "I'm too pissed off the be in pain." Despite the strong words, her face is splotchy. "Also a little bit high." She stares at him to distract herself, gaze tracing along his jaw, up to the long hair._

_ He laughs. "Hope you've got a good stash. This is gonna hurt for a while."_

_ "Yeah, especially if no one bothers to put it back in place." _

_ They've been holding eye contact, but now his eyes travel over the worn blue material of her swimsuit top, down over her stomach."Well, the orthopedist will be here in a sec. Broken femurs are no problem." _

_ "That's fucking fantastic but as you should be able to see while your eyes are down there, both my femurs are securely in place."_

_ "Oh, I, uh, sorry," he blusters. "I was just making sure-" _

_ She gives a one shoulder shrugged. "Didn't say I minded, did I?" _

Someone _does_ almost die at lunch time. Harding stands outside Wendy's room, talking to the mother, and forcing her to turn away as the doctors and nurses scurry around.

"What are they doing? What's happening?"

"Shh. Hey, it's all right, yeah? They're very good doctors."

"_Clear!_"

Mrs Hepburn gives a crinkled sob. "She's not alive. They're trying to restart her heart."

"No, that's not it. They just do that on the telly to make it seem dramatic. That just means her hearts beating wonky, and they're shocking it back into rhythm. Like, when someone's in shock, you know? And you slap them to bring them to their senses. See, hear that? They just said she's resumed normal rhythm."

Mrs Hepburn sobs - this time presumably from relief and stress - and leans her face on Harding's shoulder. "What am I going to do?"

"You're gonna buck up and go in there and make your daughter feel safe. She's not out of the woods, but she doesn't need to know that, all right? Go inspire some optimism, because unlike my embarrassing stories, optimism is proven to help." She rubs Mrs Hepburn's arm in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. "Go on, then."

Hepburn shuffles past Cameron who moves to let her pass.

"Wendy all right?"

"Between you and me, she won't be if we won't figure out what's wrong."

They start down the corridor. "That's true of everything if you think about it." Her phone buzzes. "Oh, sorry. I've got to get this." She ducks out of the way as Cameron moves on. "Bowen Harding speaking."

"Ms Harding, this is Blaire down at Apple Days."

Feeling like bitten down nails and bodies in the ground. "Is everything all right?"

"Well, Winnie just has a rash on her hand and-"

"Oh." she slumps in relief. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just contact dermatitis. Just bung some hydrocortisone on there, she'll be fine."

"It's not contagious?"

Harding laughs. "It's an allergic reaction to some soap."

"She's complaining about it; says it's itchy."

"Yeah, it would be." all the laugh's gone from her voice. "It's an allergic reaction. Look, I'm at work. Would you like me to put a doctor on so they can explain it, or would you rather them continue saving lives? Great, that's what I thought. So bung some hydrocortisone on there and she'll be fine." She snaps the phone shut before Blaire can reply, an exasperated look on her face.

Through a combination of luck and cowardice she manages to avoid Chase for the rest of the day. When five o'clock arrives she scurries out of the hospital. Standing in her spot in the parking lot, she tugs on a pair of jeans under her skirt and discards the latter in her bag. Once flats are exchanged for trainers, she yanks a helmet over her hair and roars off.

The bike is the one luxury she allows herself, the one bit of freedom she's retained. Swerving recklessly through the Princeton traffic, carefully calculated grocery lists and empty bank accounts disappear. Though it is only marginally like kitesurfing, she appreciates it.

The daycare centre appears on her left all too soon. She takes the small break in traffic without an indicator, causing more than one driver to lean on their horn as she u-turns across traffic and slides neatly into an empty parking spot.

"Mummy!" The small voice comes up from somewhere around Harding's knees as the girl runs into her.

"Hey lovey." The normally low voice rises in pitch as she scoops the girl up. "How's my Winnie? How's your hand?"

The girl holds it out. Harding frowns dramatically and kisses it. "All better now!"

She calls a thanks to the worker and heads out the door with Winnie on her hip.

"We're riding bike?" Winnie asks, her face half buried in Harding's collar.

"'Course we are girly. Every day."

She takes more precautions with Winnie. Setting the girl down on the sidewalk, Harding crouches and fastens a bright pink helmet over her daughter's head.

"Why do I have to wear that?" Winnie whines as Harding produces a black leather jacket from her bag.

"To stay safe, Win."

It's much too large for the girl; a man's jacket, worn and soft and expensive. Harding makes sure to avoid looking at the tag as she bundles it around Winnie. Perhaps if things had been different, a teenage Winifred would run her fingers over the tag before putting it on, wondering who R.C. was, why his initials were marked in faded green ink on the inside of his jacket in her mother's hand. But now, Harding knows she can't keep the secret for too long, no matter how much she wants too.

She drives carefully now, any inclination to drive recklessly erased by the toddler-arms wrapped around her stomach. They park some three blocks from the flat; Harding's used to cities and the way they transition from affluence to slums like chameleons changing hues, and she's learned to take advantage of it.

"Why d'we have to park so far away Mummy?" Winnie whines.

"Ah, up ya go then." She likes being face to face with her daughter. They share the same ambiguously hazel eyes, but the set of Winnie's face is more serious, her longer nose and pinker lips emulating the kind of childhood solemnity that every parent likes to believe is unique to their child. Her hair is lighter as well, a dark blonde that Harding's doesn't even achieve after hours in the sun.

"We park far away cause…walkings good for you Win."

The girl giggles. "Not for me!"

"Not for you, huh? Guess I get double the exercise then! Does this mean I get your dinner?"

"No!" she shrieks with laughter and hides her smile in Harding's shoulder for a moment.

A man looks over at the noise, and Harding stiffens at his gaze - it's getting dark.

"C'mon Winnie then, best get home." Tightening her grip around the girl, she quickens her pace.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day blows in damp and cold. A low grey sky provides a watercolor backdrop for brown leaves falling onto the city sidewalks. Harding doesn't pause to glance around, just hurries into the hospital, head down, jacket collar up. Water splashes up from the sidewalk onto her ankles, and mist tickles her ears. She hardly slows her pace as she shoulders open the door, barreling into the lobby.

She's given up the flats and skirt for slim black pants and a red checked button-down. The white cuffs cover her wrists, and she's buttoned the collar. Her hair is different too: skin tight braids everywhere but the top, culminating in a messy bun. She feels like herself again.

She enters the office is a manner only slightly less quiet; what lies inside does nothing to improve her mood.

"Yeah, I'd be angry too if I left being second world champion in kitesurfing to be a social worker at a hospital," House calls from his desk.

"Congratulations, you can use Google. You want your gold star now or later?" She slumps into a chair and produces her notebook and pencil. "Now, how's Wendy doing?"

"Stayed stable throughout the night," Cameron begins. "We're running a test on-"

Chase interrupts. "Is that my jacket?"

Harding looks down. "Oh, yeah. Forgot I was wearing it." She shucks it off, and puts it on the back of the chair to dry. "You were saying, Cameron?"

The doctor looks between the two uncomfortably. "…testing her blood to see if-"

"I really liked that jacket."

"Yeah, so did I," Harding snaps. "But this is neither the time nor the place so how about you shut up about it for now and let me do my job, yeah? Cameron?" Red has spread across her cheekbones, she matches her shirt.

Cameron stutters out the rest of the information and Harding stands, snapping her notebook shut. "Anything else I need to know before I go down there?"

"You work best on the ten square metres," House says without looking up.

"Obviously. Placed the world's with that one."

She runs into Chase on her way back.

"Hey! Don't do that, yeah?"

"Do what?"

They're standing a little too close; she tilts her head up to look at him. "You know what I'm talking about. I work here same as you, all right?"

"Gee, I'm sorry Wally, I just really like that jacket," he says, drowning the statement in sarcasm.

"Look, we both know I'm a c-nt, but we can hash that out later, okay? I guess I owe you that much."

"Oh, you guess?"

_"Robert." _

He considers apologising, the changes his mind. "After work then?"

"Told you, I can't. During lunch?"

"Yeah, but if someone almost dies, you have to promise not to avoid me again."

"No promises, you know I'm a coward."

He almost laughs. "Most reckless coward I ever met."

_The boozer's packed on a Saturday evening; it doubles as a club in this area of town. _

_ "Here ya go." Wally plunks a schooner in front of Robert, edging in at the small table they're all crammed around with another couple. Her own is raised to her mouth; she's not one to drink slowly. _

_ "Why are we here?" He asks in her ear, over the noise of the pub. _

_ "Cause you wanted to get out on your night off and be seen with a hot girl?" _

_ "And you needed someone to make sure you didn't get too rotten." It's one thing to come from a European family that applies alcohol in moderation; a fucked up one is quite a different story. And he can tell by the way she's jittering, it's not a buzz she's looking for, but a fight. _

_ It comes too quickly. He's settled into a relaxed haze, and is leaning on the table, running his fingers between the braids on the back of her head, and twirling the wisps of hair at her nape between them. She brushes his hand away. _

_ "Stop it." _

_ "Or what?" he shifts to wrap around her from behind, nipping at her ear. "You'll come?" He wants to feel her relax back into him, to laugh at him and tug him back home, but instead she shakes him off. He steps back, all smile gone. "What's up, Bowen? What are we doing here?" _

_ She's bouncing on the balls of her feet, glancing around. "Sorry, I'm just…ya know." _

_ "Can we get out of here then before you slug someone? C'mon, I can think of better ways for you to work out this energy." _

_ But her mind's gone; she's half tugged away from him, glaring at some bloke whose eyes have rested a little too long where they shouldn't. _

_ "Can I help you mate?" Her accent grows when she's drunk, or ready for a fight. _

_ The man smirks, sizing up Chase before returning his gaze to Wally. He's at least two metres tall, and fairly broad - the kind of cocky guy in his early twenties who can't seem to do anything but reps at the gym. _

_ "Just like your shirt, love." _

_ "Get stuffed ya fuckwit." _

_ He laughs. "What are you going to do about it, little slut like you?" _

_ Robert grabs her as she jumps forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Come on Wally, let's go. Not worth it." _

_ "What, not going to defend your girl?" Cocky calls as they walk off. _

_ Robert glances back. "Yeah, luckily for you med school taught me to keep my head." _

_ Because if Wally at hardly 1.6 metres and 50 kilos can break a nose in one punch, Robert knows exactly where to hit to dislocate a jaw. _


	5. Chapter 5

The air is damp and clear, the kind of grey october atmosphere that cleanses your lungs as you inhale, staring out over grass that still holds its green under an ever growing blanket of leaves.

Or that would be the case if Harding were breathing. Her canvas trainers tap on the sidewalk, rubber soles making small squeaking sounds as she jiggles her leg. Chase sits next to her on the bench, hand on his chin, mouth still slightly agape as he stares out over the park between buildings.

"I just-" he begins finally. "I just don't understand why you didn't tell me to begin with. Did you not trust me? Did you not think I could handle it? I-"

"I didn't want you to _have to_ handle it. You were in a good place, you had your job and shit, and…well I wasn't sure where _we _were, and I didn't want you to feel obligated to stay with me or anything because of it."

"So instead of the possibility of fucking us both up, you went and fucked up your own life?"

She shrugs, still shaking her leg. "We both know I needed to grow the fuck up."

"Did you?"

She laughs. "Don't drink, do pick fights, have an actual job, take care of a toddler, yeah I'd say I did."

He stares at the braids curving over the back of her head. "So…can I meet her?"

She looks at him for the first time since the conversation began, all the anxiety in her eyes replaced by seriousness. "Think about it for a while first. I don't want you feeling obligated to do anything, that's not why I told you. But even more than that I won't have you coming into her life then leaving; both of us know how hard that one is."

Leaves drift down in the silence. His hand finds the back of her head almost absentmindedly, and pulls her down to rest her forehead on his shoulder. A small sigh of contentment escapes Harding's mouth. Chase frowns into the distance, playing with her bun.

"She cute, then?"

Harding pulls back, eyebrows raised. "Is she cute? Look at us: she's fucking adorable, a downright beaut."

He smiles, and they hold each other's gaze a little too long. Harding blushes and looks away.

"So what now?" Chase asks.

"Well, now you try not to hate me, and we try to be friends."

"Couldn't hate you if I tried." There's something soft and sincere in his voice, but its gone just as quickly. "Well, I did when I realised my jacket was gone."

"Yeah, well you can't have it back now. Winnie wears it on the bike."

"Bike?" He asks surprised. "Gage's bike?"

"Yeah."

"Even after…all that?"

"Even after all that."

He returns to work shaky handed.

"You okay?" Cameron asks after he nearly drops one of the vials and proceeds to swear violently.

"Yeah just…distracted."

"Harding?"

"Yeah, kind of."

She prods a little more. "Was it bad between you two?"

Chase shrugs and leans over the microscope. "I didn't think it was, but I came back from work one day and she was gone."

"Gone? Has she told you why?"

He sighs in exasperation. "Look, I'm really not in the mood to talk about it, alright?" Slamming away from the table he says, "It's not a cyst."

_Wally stares at the sky, knock-off Raybands acting as a barrier between her eyes and the sun. _

_ "Isn't it, like, mad that the sun is up there?" she asks. "And like, the stars we see at night are so cold, but burn so much hotter, yeah? Like, science is crazy, mate." _

_ "Gage would be so proud of that statement," the other girl says. She's smaller than Wally, a blonde with a perpetually red nose. "He'd be so proud of us right now." _

_ "Best way to honor his memory." _

_ Their voices hold the lazy smoke of the joint burnt to ashes between them. They're lying on a large beach blanket, gazing at the burning blue 'Gong summer. Lyssa is trying to not cry again, she's been crying for the past week. Wally on the other hand ran out of tears what feels like several funerals ago; the weed just makes the numbness seem a little more interesting. _

_It had seemed like the best way to honour her little brother, smoking the last of his stash, but now she's not so sure, now she just feels sick. She thinks of him: all bright and cheerful. There was nothing aggressive about Gage, nothing to merit the knife stuck in his side, or the resultant motorcycle accident as he tried to drive himself to the ER. _

_ His girlfriend turns to Wally as she flips over. They've sobered up in the same moment. "Why was he stabbed? Did Jason ever tell you?" _

_ Wally speaks into the blanket, her voice muffled. "Drunk fuckwit called him a faggot." _

_ He was effeminate, with the same rosy, heart-shaped face as Wally, and an innocent look in his eyes. _

_ Lyssa watches, red eyes wide under her glasses, as Wally lies crying into the blanket. There's no pain like the guilt of being the final survivor. _


	6. Chapter 6

Harding tries to concentrate on anything but Chase. House half watches her as she reads her book, fiddling with the straw from a long discarded drink. She twists it in the middle, then stops. Pushing her book to the side, she does it again.

"What are you doing?"

She's moved to the book shelf, and has started flipping through a detailed diagram of blood vessels, settling on one that shows the uterus.

"Hm? Oh, nothing. I was just wondering something is all." A flush settles over her cheeks as she looks back down, running her fingers along the red lines.

"You have an idea. What is it?"

"No, it's nothing. I wouldn't know-"

"Tell me."

"Well, like," she sighs. "When people die of alcohol consumption it's because the vessels in their esophagus have burst right? Cause of pressure?"

"You think she has uterine cirrhosis?" he's trying to intimidate her; no one can survive on his team long without a thick skin, but luckily Harding isn't easily frightened.

"No, I think something's causing the blood vessels in one place to be constricted, and the ones in her uterus are bursting, only no one saw because tissue build-up is already pretty thick for her upcoming period."

He considers her. "Interesting idea, unlikely. I like it. Go find Cameron and tell her to run an ultrasound to analyze blood flow. She's looking for an ovarian torsion."

She nods and hurries away.

They're in the lab still, computer screens flashing indefinite graphs and numbers. Harding's eyes linger on Chase before she pulls the door open.

"Cameron."

"Hm?"

"House says he wants you to run an ultrasound checking for irregular blood flow and an ovarian torsion."

"An ovarian torsion? He thinks pressure is causing this?"

Harding shrugs. "Dunno. I just deliver the messages." She stays in place, staring at Chase as Cameron leaves. He's bent over a microscope, purposefully not looking at her. It's all she wants to walk over to him, to lean her cheek on his head and know everything's going to be okay. After three years she still knows exactly how his hands feel on her waist, how his hair smells, how his cheek feels the afternoon after he's shaved.

"What d'you want, Harding?"

Her heart breaks a little at his tone, but breaks even more at the fact that he called her Harding. She runs from the lab without saying anything.

* * *

The clock on the wall ticks out dully, the cheap lamp that lights the room flickers; nothing works properly in Harding's flat.

"Winnie, supper." she calls over her shoulder. The brightly colored mac 'n cheese slumps into the chipped bowl. "Here, eat your apple first."

Mother and daughter sit on the floor on either side of the coffee table. The carpet is flat, wearing, but clean as Harding could manage.

"Did anything exciting happen today, love?"

The little girl chatters on, unperturbed by a full mouth, or the fact that her mother's stomach growls. Harding takes a few bites of pasta as Winnie eats her apple, then leaves the rest for her daughter.

Her reluctance to eat would become clear if anyone examined the cupboards' contents: one jar of peanut butter, marked carefully so she knows how much to ration out each day; three boxes of mac n' cheese - each needing to last 2 meals; half a bag of pretzels; some cornflakes. A mostly-there loaf of bread lies on the counter. The problem lies in the refrigerator as well: Harding refuses to deny a three year old proper food, and much of her grocery budget goes to the apples and carrots in the drawer, and the cans of vegetables sitting a top the fridge.

Even more of the grocery budget goes to paying off her late aunt's medical bills.

After tucking Winnie in in the single small bedroom, Harding let's herself collapse. The water in the shower is turned on cold, but she can still feel her face getting splotchier and splotchier as she cries.

"FUCK!" a cockroach sits on the sink as she climbs out of the shower, and she goes after it with a towel, still crying. A stream of obscenities comes out of her mouth. She casts the towel aside, disposes of the carcass, and sits on the side of the tub, burying her face in her hands.

_Stop being a child,_ she scolds herself. _You're a god damn adult, pull your shit together. _

* * *

_"Great job Bo!" Mark grabs her arm as she sheds off the harness. "I saw GreenMan checking you out." _

_ "GreenMan? Like the energy drinks?" There's a visible brightness in her eyes; her face is pink from exertion, glowing under a sheen of sweat and sea water. _

_ "You're on your way to the world's kiddo! We've got to start training for Rio!" _

_ "Just give me a day off, Mark!" She says, laughing and skipping backwards. "My family came!" _

_ He waves her off and she turns and runs towards a small crowd. _

_ "There she is!" a man holds out his arms and she catapults into them. "Little sister!" _

_ "Grant! You're here!" a large kiss lands on his cheek. _

_ "Yeah, well, they didn't give me much of a choice," he teases._

_ "You did great, Bowen." A taller man stands in the middle. He has a perpetual slouch, and lacks the cheerful demeanour of Grant and Bowen. _

_ "Thanks Bastille." She kisses his cheek as well. "Are you doing all right?" He nods, but his eyes are tired, and theres a shadow of a beard on his normally clean shaven face. _

_ Jillian grabs her into a hug."That was wonderful, Bo! How aren't you scared up there?" _

_ "Guess I didn't inherit your's and Bas' brains." She hugs her sister carefully, as if in any moment she could break in two. The hard ridges of her shoulder and spine stick out. "And even little baby Gage! How you doing Gage-y?" _

_ She jumps on the youngest and puts him in a choke hold. _

_ "I'm gonna let that one slide, Bo, but only because I'm impressed." _

_ "Thanks baby brother." _

_ She stands among them, radiating happiness. To any passerby, it would be obvious that they're family: their straight noses, their nondescript hazel eyes. There are matching smiles on Grant, Bo, and Gage's faces, but Bastille and Jillian are more sombre. Jillian tries to be happy, but lives in fear that someone will make her eat, while Bastille hasn't left his flat except to go to work in months; the fact that he's out at all is a miracle. _

_ "Oh, Bo," Grant begins in a goading tone. "We met your boyfriend." _

_ "Boyfriend?" _

_ "Blonde? Rich?" _

_ "Oh, Robert? He's here?" _

_ "O-oh, Robert?" Gage mocks the way she looks around. "You're totally fucking him." _

_ "Am not! We're mates." _

_ "Mates in bed?" _

_ "Oh, shut up you twat!" she rolls her eyes. "Ask him; we're just mates. We drink beer and I helped him pick up a girl and -" _

_ Jill giggles. "Look how red her face is!" _

_ "So not a mate that you fuck, just one that you fancy," Grant exclaims gleefully. "Oh look, here he comes. HI ROBERT." _

_ "Oh _fuck me_." Bo covers her face. _

_ "I'm sure he will if you ask." _

_ Robert smiles as he comes up behind her, never thinking that in less than two years, Bo will be the only one of the Harding siblings left. _


	7. Chapter 7

The next day it rains outright. They sit around in the office during lunch. Harding can feel Chase's eyes flicking to her every few moments, but she keeps her attention fixed firmly on her book until Cameron speaks directly to her.

"…how you you deal with it?"

"Deal with what, sorry?"

"Men not taking you seriously."

Chase laughs before he can help himself.

"Here's the thing, Cameron. Men aren't going to take you seriously no matter what. If you button up your collar your a woman trying to hard to be serious, if you unbutton it your a whore, so you've got to choose the approach that works best for you."

"Which do you do?"

"In general? Let my tits hang out. I was fifteen the first time that got me into a pub, eighteen when I found out that got you better tips. If men are stupid enough to let you do things and give you favors because you're dressed a certain way that's their problem, and I see nothing unfeminist with taking advantage of that."

"Your collars buttoned now."

"Yeah, cause my tits have no business here."

"Well that's what I mean! How do you get them to take you seriously in a professional setting."

Harding takes a gulp of tea. "You know what your problem is? You're too fucking nice. You never wanted anyone to call you bossy or pushy. I grew up with three brothers; I wouldn't know lady-like if it hit me in balls I think I have. You want a man to take you seriously, always have the upper hand. If they know you can beat them in a fight they're a lot less likely to fuck with you. If you look 'em in the eye and raise your chin and don't speak softly their a lot more likely to respect you. Being a woman is great if you want something outside of the workplace, otherwise grow a pair."

"But isn't that unfeminist?"

"So maybe I'm a terrible goddamn feminist, but I'll start showing up to church when being Christian benefits me somehow."

"You don't think maybe the principle alone benefits you?"

"My sole principle is that staying alive efficiently is good; I don't have time for any other shit."

"But what if men infringe on your rights?"

Harding rolls her eyes. "Then that get's in the way of the efficiency bit, doesn't it?"

"So how do you deal with that?"

"And here we are back at the beginning." She shuts her book, standing. "I'm going to go make sure the Hepburns are all squared away."

"I can't decide if that's genius or stupid," Cameron says as the door shuts.

"It's psychotic," Chase decides. "She thinks she can do whatever she want."

Foreman chuckles. "That is not the sound of a relationship ended well."

"Why won't any of you let that go? It was three fucking year ago."

"I think we're all having a little too much fun to let it go. Maybe if you'd just fess up-"

Chase swears. "Nosey bastards."

"Just let it go, Chase," Cameron advises. "He's like House: he knows that if he keeps prodding you'll eventually crack."

He sighs, and picks up Harding's discarded book. _My Name is Asher Lev. _The cover is bent, water damaged. The fifty-cent sticker is half peeled off, half begging the use of goo-gone. "It didn't end badly, it didn't end at all. I just came home from the hospital one day and she was gone."

"Like, gone?"

"Like, wasn't at the beach, wasn't at the bar. I called her phone, her friends, but no one could tell me anything. A couple days later her trainer called and told me she'd quit, moved out to Perth to live with a cousin. I never heard from her again."

"Did you ever figure out why?" Cameron pries.

"Not until she showed up here." he taps the book on the table, eager to escape. "I'm going…not here."

They run into each other in the hallways.

"If you're gonna yell, please do it soon," she says, snatching the book from his hands. "You know I prefer honesty to false amnesty."

"I'm not mad, Harding."

She scoffs. "You're calling me Harding."

"I'm trying to be professional."

"No you're not!"

"What, do you want me to be angry?"

"Yes!" her voice cracks. "Yes, I want you to be angry! I want you to be so pissed off you can't take it!"

"What, so you can hate me for hating you and feel better? Maybe I don't want you to feel better."

She laughs through the burgeoning tears. "You don't believe me about why I left, do you? You think I was cheating on you."

"Why else would you leave, Harding?"

"I think you know perfectly well why, _Chase._"

"No, I don't."


	8. Chapter 8

_"Holy shit!" _

_ "Grant!" _

_ "The fuck is wrong with you, you absolute cunt!" Bo grabs Robert, and helps him up. "Lemme see that, oh shit. Grant, you ass-hole!" The side of Robert's face is rapidly swelling. _

_ The smell of beer radiates off of all of them, but they're all a bit too passed buzzed to notice. The joy has gone from the group, it left as soon as Grant threw the punch; even Gage's perpetually cheerful expression is a bit confused. _

_ Bo leaps over the table and at her brother, hitting him square in the nose. "Why the fuck would you do that?" His blood comes away on her knuckles. _

_ "Oh, you bitch!" _

_ "OI!" the bartender yells. "Don't make me call the cops." _

_ "He's my brother!" Bo snaps. The man considers this a moment, then shrugs. _

_ "Someone's got to keep you in line, Bowen," Grant sneers. "Can't have you thinking you're all high and mighty just 'cause you moved to Sydney." _

_ "Oh, so you punch him, he punches you, and I suddenly hate him? Just gotta love that family logic!" Grant is only a handful of centimeters taller than Bowen, and she shoves him back against the table. "You're such a fucking cunt!" _

_ Robert stares in amazement, a cold glass pressed to his cheek. Bo grabs his hand and tugs him away with a 'let's go.' _

_ "You're not good enough for him, Bo!" Grant calls. "Just a slut from Lake Heights!" _

_ "Better a slut from Lake Heights who made it out than you. You're turning out just like he wanted, Grant: drunk and angry!" _

_ The night air is like a balm on her hot cheeks as they push out of the pub. _

_ "I'm so sorry. I really did not want you to meet them for a reason." _

_ "Yeah, well, I really liked all them before Grant hit me." Robert stretches his jaw and groans. _

_ "Oh don't be a child, you'll be fine." _

_ "Easy for you to say, you didn't get hit." The turn down the street towards his flat. _

_ "I've been hit by Grant many a time, and trust me: I avenged you. Your honour is intact." _

_ "Why did he hit me?" _

_ "Cause the Harding clan is about ten different shades of fucked." _

_ "And they don't want you to be friends with me?" _

_ "I think it's a little too early in the friendship to begin sharing painful family stories just yet." _

_ Robert laughs sardonically."I think we're there." _

_ "C'mon, then. Let's get inside. You're gonna want to get something on that." _

_ "Thanks, four years of med school left out that bit." _

_ She snorts and shoves him with her shoulder."Well luckily, I've been in way more fights than you have." _

_ "Have not." _

_ "Have too." _

_ "I went to an all boys school." _

_ "I went to public school in Lake Heights." _

_ "You're a girl." _

_ "Who was very protective of her younger brother." _

_ Robert chuckles as he unlocks his front door. "You just like picking fights." _

_ "I won't deny it." she waltzes in as if it's her home as well, though its nicer than anywhere she's ever lived. "Now-" she props open the fridge (the first time she did it, he commented on it, but he's since grown used to her lack of boundaries) and produces a beer and a water - "more drunk or less drunk for story time." _

_ "More drunk," he says, stretching out on the sofa. "Always more drunk." _

_ "My kind of man," she jokes, popping the two bottles open. "Budge up." _

_ With a grunt, he lifts his legs long enough for her to plop down. _

_ "So Grant thinks I'm playing you?" _

_ "No." _

_ "He thinks you're playing me?" _

_ "Also wrong." _

_ "You gonna stop stalling and tell me? I've got to be at work in twelve hours." _

_ "Oh, well then, guess it'll have to wait for another time." _

_ "Wally!" _

_ "All right, all right." she takes a swig of beer, then sighs and looks at Robert. He's lying down, beer bottle pressed to his cheek. "So, my dad's a bit of a dead beat, yeah?" _

_ "Mine too, we should form a club." _

_ She rolls her eyes. "I should have given you the water. You gonna let me go on?" _

_ "Fine." _

_ "Anyway, my dad. He grew up in a shithole and instead of getting out drank himself into a shithole. He's a smart man he just…hated himself, I think, for never bothering to do anything with his life, and he took that anger out on us."_

_ "He hit you?" _

_ "Nah, he was just a cock. One day when I was ten, Jill brought home this friend, right? Oh, fuck. Hold on a sec." She flips open her ringing phone. "What is it?…No, I'm fine. I'm at Robert's. Yeah, love you too Jillie." she tosses the phone across the room. "Okay, so she brings this friend home, and it's not like the girl is super posh or anything, but she's better off than us - a lot better, and Dad throws a fucking fit. He's like smashing bottles, yelling, swearing, I think he even brandished a knife at one point. He wanted to scare her off, and he succeeded. _

_ "Once she was gone he laid into all of us, saying how we didn't need to be getting ideas like that into our head, how people like that would make us ungrateful for what we had, make us selfish. Jillie was thirteen or so, and that's when she stopped being so happy. And it wasn't, like, an isolated incident, it was just how it was: Dad was a deadbeat, so we were expected to be deadbeats too. I got out, Jillie and Bastille and Gage just kind of left, but Grant is still involved with Dad. Maybe he's better than all of us, cause he still has hope, but evidently he's turning into him." _

_ There's a long stretch of silence during which her face flushes for saying too much. Robert looks at her, eyes traveling from her red cheeks down to her collar bone. Her t-shirt is falling off her shoulder, revealing the strap of the bathing suit she's still wearing from the tournament earlier. _

_ "Come here." _

_ She eyes him. "Why?" _

_ "I'm drunk and in the mood to make a decision I'll probably regret later." _

_ "Takes two to make that decision." she's dubious, but maneuvers out from under his legs so she's hovering over him. They look at each other, noses almost touching. His mouth is so close to hers; its as if she knows what it would feel like, pink and soft."Seems to me like you just want to piss off your father by fucking the slut from Lake Heights." Her heart trembles; if he was to kiss her neck at this moment, he would feel just how fast it's beating. _

_ He shrugs, eyes moving to her bottom lip. His hands are tight on her back, resting in the hollow above her shorts. "Never a bad side-effect." he grins. "besides, I like a girl with experience." _


	9. Chapter 9

He walks off and leaves her standing in the hallway, feeling woozy. Her body's exhausted from not enough food and too many emotions; did she take her pill this morning? Her mind feels so odd. Black dots begin to clump in her vision, and her joints become a little too loose.

"Whoa there." A hand grabs her arm and pulls her to a bench. "Head between your knees."

She obeys. Breathing becomes her focus, in-out, in-out. When she raises her head, the doctor is still there.

"You alright?"

"Yes, thank you. I just forgot to take my medicine this morning, among other things."

"What is it? Maybe we can get you some from the pharmacy."

"Brupropion."

"All right. You feeling okay to walk? I'm Wilson, by the way."

"Harding." He helps her stand.

"You're House's new social worker, right?"

She chuckles. "I think he prefers 'spy,' but yes, that's me."

"I don't know; he was impressed you figured out the ovarian torsion."

"I didn't figure it out at all. I just had an idea that lead him to the right answer."

"Yes, well House isn't impressed easily." They push through the clinic doors. "Here, sit down. One hundred fifty all right?"

"Yeah, that'll get me through the day."

It takes him a moment arguing with the pharmacist, but he brings her the pill.

"You should eat something with that," he warns as she swallows.

"I've got a sandwich back in the office," she says.

"Good, I was just heading over there."

"Do you often escort strange women through the hospital?"

"Only when I see them on the verge of fainting. It's my job, you see, to make sick people better."

"My goodness, is that what doctors do? And this whole time I thought you were just playing dress-up in lab coats."

"That is fifty-percent of the requirement. Then twenty-five is saying large words, ten is saying reassuring things, so only fifteen is the actual making people better."

"Sounds like my kind of job."

Chase twiddles his pencil, staring down at the crossword. "Phantom horse offspring, five letters."

"Misty," Cameron says. "Like the book."

"Surprisingly, I never went through my pre-pubescent girl horse phase," he says, scribbling it down.

"Damn shame," says Wilson, pulling open the door and ushering Harding in. "I would pay good money for those pictures."

Harding pours a cup of coffee and sits, resuming her book.

"There you are," House emerges from his office. "What took you so long?"

"You called five minutes ago."

"And your office is two minutes away."

"Maybe I was busy."

"It's lunch time. But it's Tuesday, meaning you brought your lunch and had probably already finished eating it, so question is, what were you doing?"

"Even after all these years, your inquisitive nature never ceases to amaze me. If you must know, I ran into your operative about to pass out in the hallway."

"I just couldn't help myself," she quips, not looking up from her book. "I just saw him and swooned."

"His zygomatic arches do have that affect," House responds. Harding snorts into her coffee. "So, why did you pass out?"

"Forgot to take my medicine."

"What medicine can you not go less than a day without fainting?" he presses sarcastically.

"Vicodine."

Chase and Foreman chuckle, and House joins in sarcastically.

"Oh, very clever."

"Are you going to tell me what I'm here for?" Wilson sighs.

"Yes. Come on."

The door shuts again.

"Enigmatic quality - a lot of letters."

"Je ne sai quoi," Harding says.

"Thanks."

He doesn't ask about anymore clues.

The doctors read or leave occasionally to do consults. Chase stares at the crossword in the long lulls; he knows he can't finish it without Harding's help. In a perfect existence they'd go home, pop open a few beers and sit on the couch. She'd lean on his shoulder, kissing his neck as she gave him extra hints, teasing him over the crossword clues. In his mind, he tries to add a kid into that picture, some faceless little girl, but Bowen could hardly take care of herself; he can't imagine her with a kid.

She's sitting at the end of the table, her face resting in the crook of her arms, hands on the back of her neck. Rain begins rumbling outside. Gently at first, then harder, her fingers curl on her skin until her nails are digging into the flesh. The vertebrae of her spine make hills under the skin.

Chase taps his pen on his teeth. Differential diagnosis. Weight loss. Fainting. She's on medication. Irritability. Combined with a family history of depression…maybe the fainting's related to the weight loss, not the medication. But if the weight loss is caused _by _the medication…

"It's five." he says.

"Fuck." she sits up. "I've got to get-" The chair nearly falls as she scrambles up, grabbing her bag. "Shit it's pouring, mother-fucker." For the first time he notices the shadows under her eyes, and just like she has all day, she looks as if she's about to cry.

"Wally," he grabs his keys and hurries after her as she weaves down the hall. "You can't ride the bike in this."

"Apparently I can." She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, stopping the tears before they begin.

"Let me give you a ride."

"Look," she whirls on him. "You can hate me or you can be nice; I don't see both working."

"I don't hate you!"

"Yeah, when you were being nice yesterday. I'm assuming something changed your mind." Spinning, she continues walking.

"Look, Wally, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. I'm sure you had a reason we just…we obviously need to talk."

She stops at the door to the parking garage and stares at him. They're not the eyes of the manically happy woman he knew, but tired, scared.

"Robert…"

"Just come here." Tugging her into a hug, he holds her tight against him. "I'll give you a ride, and we can talk, all right? And I can meet Winnie." Rubbing the nail marks on the back of her neck, he pulls back.

"If you're sure."

"I have to be nice to you; I need help with this crossword."

She laughs. "Bastard."


	10. Chapter 10

The rain patters, leaving round drops on the windshield for a brief moment before being wiped away. Across the grey intersection, the light turns green.

"You may just be the stupidest human being I've ever met," Chase says, accelerating.

"Turn here." She looks down at his hand on the gear shift. "I don't know how to respond to that."

"I'm tempted to fly back to Aus and kill your father."

"Please do, maybe he'll leave me something. Right there," she points.

Chase laughs softly as he pulls next to the curb. For a moment after the car turns off, they listen to the sound of the rain. From the corner of his eye, he looks at her. The braids that hug her head are starting to frizz; she redoes them every three days. He knows she'll redo them tonight in the same way he knows how intensely uncomfortable she feels right now, how she'd rather have done anything than bare herself like that. And he knows that part of her still doesn't trust him, even after his assurances, because living all those years with her father and Grant left her _knowing _that she wasn't good enough for Chase, and that someone like that could never have loved her.

She knows all this too, consciously, but has all the doubt overshadowed by the intense emotion she feels for him, what caused her to leave and save him in the first place.

"I should go get Winnie."

"You want my jacket?"

She smiles, a shy thing, the first real one he's seen from her since Monday. "No, it's fine. I'll run." Opening the door, she disappears into the rain, dashing around the car and into the building. She's gone only a moment before the door opens again and she reappears with Winnie on her hip. The girl's arms are wrapped around Wally's neck, her face tilted up at the sky. She blinks rapidly, as if surprised when water lands in her eyes.

"Mummy, where's the bike?" Winnie asks as Wally slides back into the car, still holding her daughter.

"It's raining, silly. Robert offered to give us a ride. Can you say hi?"

Winnie peers at Chase through strands of wet hair falling over her face. "Hi."

"Hi," he replies, a little unsurely.

"And what do we say to people when we meet them, Winnie?" Wally's voice is different when she talks to her kid, both sterner and slightly higher.

She mumbles into Wally's shoulder. "It's nice to meet you." Winnie has a strange accent; somewhere between her mother's broad one, and that of the kids in her daycare.

"Nice to meet you too."

"C'mon Win, into the back." The doors open and close again as Wally buckles Winnie in the back seat. Chase looks at her in the rearview mirror; his green-blue eyes stare back from her face.

"She's a toddler," Wally giggles, buckling back in. "Not a shark."

"_Can_ I be a shark?" Winnie pipes.

"Only if you don't bite people."

"Sharks bite people."

"You know what happens to sharks that bite people?"

Winnie plays with the hem of her shirt. "No."

"The Chinese cut off their fins and make them into soup."

"I'm pretty sure that's racist," Robert says, maneuvering out into traffic.

"Pretty sure the Chinese are too."

"I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before."

"You know how I feel about ethnocentricity."

He does. "Let me take you and Winnie to dinner."

She looks at him, then at Winnie. "What do you say, Win? Should we let Robert take us to dinner? Or do you want mac n' cheese?"

"Noooo!" she looks up from her lap. Her red mouth forms a perfect 'o' as she whines. "No mac n' cheese!"

The adults both laugh. "I guess that's your answer, then."

There comes that smile again as she looks at him: the shy curve of her lips that rounds her cheeks and lights her eyes.

They sit in the diner, talking as Winnie scribbles on a sheet of paper.

"So, you don't drink at all now?"

"Well, I'm not like a straight edge, but I don't get hammered anymore. No pot either."

"Or kitesurfing."

"Yeah."

"You miss it?"

"Obviously. I mean, I'm on brupropion but it's no where near as effective as the beach a beer and my board."

As much as he had guessed."Is your doctor an idiot? Did he take a history at all?"

She takes a fry off his plate. "I told him Jillie died of 'weight related heart issues.' That was all he needed to know. How he interpreted that was his problem."

"You're thin, though."

"I'm thin cause it's appetite suppressant, not because I have an eating disorder."

He huffs. "You should see someone at the hospital once your insurance comes through. You need a change of prescription."

"I'm fine, Robert." she kicks him gently under the table. "I'm changing the subject. How'd you end up here? You love Aus just as must as I do."

"Dad wanted me to get a real job, some prestigious. He made a call."

"You don't like it?" she asks in response to his face.

"No, I do, I just don't like everyone treating me like an idiot."

"Cause your dad made a call?"

"Yeah."

"Bunch of twats then. Their loss if they don't see how qualified you are." she looks over at Winnie's paper. "Is that you as a shark, Win?"

"Mmmmhmm." she scribbles waves with a blue crayon. "But not the kind that bites."

"So the good kind?"

"Do you rescue surfers from bad sharks?" Robert asks.

She shakes her head, banging her heels on the bottom of the booth as her legs swing. "No, the Chinese do that."

Wally puts a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.

"She's more Australian than you, Wally. Congrats."

She kicks him again, but this time he traps her foot between his legs.

"Still aggressive, I see." He leans over the table, looking right at her.

"Some things don't change." She winks and tugs back her foot. Then her smile falters a little, and her cheeks redden.

"Oh," he misreads her embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No," she replies hurriedly. "It's just…been a while." She changes the subject again. "Thank you for…not freaking out horrifically about all this."

"I am, trust me."

"Then thank you for controlling it." she thinks back to the previous day. "To some extent at least."

Winnie puts down her crayon. "I'm tired."

"Well then," Robert puts some bills on the table. "Let's get you home."

"Psychological disconnect?" Wally hypothesizes. "Is that how you're handling it?"

"Shut-up, Wally."

She laughs and thanks him for dinner.


	11. Chapter 11

"As you can see, my decision making facilities haven't improved at all over the past three years."

"I dunno, seemed like a pretty great decision to me." The fold-out bed squeaks as he moves his arm to run his fingers through her hair.

"Doesn't it just seem weird to you, though?" she asks, tilting her face up. "That we just pick up right where we left off? Mmm." she pulls away from his attempt to stop her thinking. "I mean, I haven't had a relationship since, but you…"

"I dated a banker for a while before finding out she was into pain."

Laughter chokes up her throat. "You're joking."

"Hand to God. She made me go to a couple of those clubs with her and-"

"Oh you poor thing." Wally's really laughing now. She sits up, resting on her knees so to better look at him. "You must've been terrified."

He stares at her hair falling over her shoulders, almost covering her small breasts. Tan lines still criss-cross her skin: one from her swim suit, one from her rash guard.

"Did I ever tell you my BDSM story?"

"No!" Robert laughs. "Do I want to know? Wait, of course I want to know."

"I was sixteen and in this bar, right? And this girl is there, maybe three years older than me, with her boyfriend."

"Please tell me this turns into you making out with a girl."

"Shut up!" she whacks him. "It does, actually. But that's not the story. So all three of us are rotten, and she tells me…"

It's not the story Robert was expected; at one point he laughs so loudly Wally hits him again, casting a glance down the the hallway to assure Winnie is still in bed.

"…and that is why two straight girls should never make out."

"You watched their threesome. Why?" he laughs.

"Cause I was sixteen and curious." she shrugs. "It wasn't like…anything sexual. I just watched for a little while then left."

He raises his eyebrows. "Did you touch yourself?"

"No!"

He pulls her down. "Don't lie! Come 'ere!" he tickles her and she shrieks.

"I'm telling the truth! Get off!"

They're both breathing hard after a moment, staring at each other. She brushes her nose against his, making him bend his head for a long kiss. It's the kind of kiss where they end up squirming onto their sides, pressing the length of their bodies together. They're entangled by the time it's finished. He runs a hand down her back, making her shiver against him.

"Been a while, hm?" Robert murmurs into her skin. "I say once is not enough to make up for lost time. I'd be _more_ than willing to go again. For you of course."

"Your sense of sacrifice astounds me."

"You're fucking."

Chase and Harding pause in the doorway at House's words.

"Is there an adjective coming?" she asks. "Or was that a verb?"

"You two weren't even talking yesterday," he says over the top of his cane. "Now you're walking in together."

"Wow. I had no clue sex was the only way for adults to get along. Did you know that Robert?"

"Not a clue. I'll file that one away for the next game of Trivial Pursuit."

"You're wearing a men's shirt."

"And you're grasping at straws," Harding laughs. "I've worn a men's shirt everyday this week. Also, don't forget-" she drops her bag and sits in a chair. "-I'm a social worker."

"What does that have to do with sex?" House asks.

"Not a lot. But it does have an awful lot to due with sexual harassment. Mainly, I'm very good at reporting it."

"Or she'll just punch you," Chase says, pouring a cup of coffee.

"Or I will just punch you."


	12. Chapter 12

The week ends peacefully, dully. Harding tries to relax on Saturday, but an expedition to the grocery store leaves her anxiety level high. She and Winnie explore the free children's museum, guiding small hands through interactive displays. They look at the butterflies, and Harding makes up stories to go along with each one Winnie point out: the blue one wanted to melt into sky, the red one flew through a fire to prove it was brave. There's even an exhibit on poisonous animals, many of which Harding knows quite a bit about.

She's watching Winnie play with other children on the indoor playground when her phone rings.

"Hey, it's me."

"I know a lot of Australian men," she says, keeping an eye on Winnie as she spins some sort of matching game. "You'll have to elaborate."

"It's Robert."

"Oh-ho. Someone's grumpy." his tone makes her smile. "What's up?"

"I'm at work."

"It's Saturday."

"Trust me, I know."

"So are you just calling to complain? One sec- Winnie! Give that back! Sorry, little beast was trying to take some kid's toy."

"D'you want to do something tomorrow?"

"It's supposed to be nice out; I was gonna take Win to a park if you want to come."

"There's a nice one near my building." He gives her the street name. It's in a considerably nicer area of town, close to the hospital.

"One-ish good for ya then? Are you going to be more happy than you are now?"

"Only if the weather is warm enough for you to wear shorts."

_"Robert, you should really go." _

_ He leans over the back of the couch."Come with me," he whines. _

_ "You need to go spend some time with it." _

_ "You'd make me go if it were your dad." _

_ "My dad's a mean drunk." _

_ "My dad's a distant doctor." _

_ She sticker her head out the bathroom door, toothbrush in mouth. "So much more of a reason why you should go alone, get to know the man." she mumbled around spit before disappearing again. _

_ "I told him you were coming." _

_ The look on her face is much less accommodating when she reappears. "You did not." _

_ "I did. He say he wants to meet you." _

_ "You're fucking j- no."_

_ "Why not? Give me one good reason why?" _

_ The tenseness of a drawn-out subject arises between them. It hangs for a moment between their eyes, then snaps as she turns towards the kitchen. _

_ "You know perfectly well why." _

_ He begins to sigh in exasperation, then stops. Any good doctor knows how to deal with abuse victims on at least the most basic level. "It's all in your head, Wally." He comes up behind her and nuzzles her neck, arms snaking around her hips. "I promise you, anything you feel-" _

_ "I know that." she snaps. "It's not about that. You know I'm rough around the edges." _

_ "That's putting it lightly," he snorts. "But so what?" _

_ "So you're not." _

_ "So he'll be glad someone's whipping me into shape." _

_ That's how she ends up sitting in a booth at a pub at four in the afternoon, Robert's arm around her. Her reverse-cornrows have been exchanged for one smooth french braid, and she's wearing a bra for once instead of just a swimsuit top under her shirt. _

_ "Stop it." _

_ "Stop what?" _

_ "You're freaking out." _

_ "So are you. Can I ask you a question?" _

_ "What?" _

_ "Is he where you got your stupid pommy nose from?" _

_ "My nose is not pommy. Besides, he's Czech." _

_ "Doesn't matter, mate. It's pretty pommy." _

_ "Did you just call me mate." _

_ "Yeah," she smiles mischievously up at him. "What you going to do about it?" _

_ "I'm gonna get you for that!" his arm moves from her shoulder to her neck, crushing her to him as she shrieks with laughter and pushes him away. _

_ "Sadly, he did inherit it from me." _

_ Robert's arm loosens and he stands. "Dad. Hi." _

_ The moment Wally sees him, she ceases to be nervous and slips into a different suit: the one that makes who she thinks of as "adults" like her. It's the mode that got her through school, that got her tips serving with older people at the restaurant, and it's the one she'll use now. _

_ "Dad, this is Wal- Bowen?" he looks at her uncertainly. _

_ "Bo is fine." she smiles brightly and offers a hand. "It's lovely to meet you sir." _


	13. Chapter 13

"For those legs it's not a walk from my flat it's a pilgrimage."

She's sitting on a blanket in the grass, watching Winnie run around. The sun is out and almost hot, falling on green grass and changing leaves.

She grins up at him, face half-covered by dark sunglasses. "There are kids around, mate."

"You know what I do when you call me 'mate.'"

"Shame there're kids around then."

He grabs just above her knee in retaliation, and her leg jerks up as she screams.

"I will literally," she says, deadly softly. "cunt-punt you back to Australia if you tickle me again."

There's a moment of silence before they both smile. "How are you?" he kisses her cheek.

"Eh. You survived work, then?"

"Boring as hell. Hate being on call. What did you do?"

"Groceries, took Win to the kids' museum."

With a groan, he stretches out on his back, hands behind his head. "You're gonna hate winter. Let see, October now, it may not be nice like this again till April."

"Fuuuuck me."

"If it'll get you through."

She smirks up at the trees. "Cheeky bastard."

"Mummy," Winnie toddles over, something cupped in her hands. "I brought you flowers."

Wally gasps in fawned surprised. "Oh! You did! They're beautiful, thank you!" She beams at her daughter. "Can I put them in your hair? Okay, sit down. Robert, hand me the comb from my bag, will you?" he obliges, smirking. "What?"

"It's just you, being all…"

"All what, grown up?" she parts Winnie's hair slightly off center, and begins some sort of intricate braid along her crown. "Don't squirm lovey."

"But you're hurrrrting."

"D'you want me to do this or not." Win's shoulders slump as she pouts. "She pouts like you, Robert."

"I don't pout!"

"When you do you look like Winnie. Win?"

"Hm?" she's playing with a cloth doll, twisting her arms this way and that.

"Mummy used to do this for her sister."

"You have a sister?"

"Mmhmm. Your Aunty Jillie."

"Where is she?"

"She was very very sick, and she died before you were born."

"Oh." Winnie considers this with the matter-of-factness of the very young. "Was it sad?"

"Yes. It's very sad when someone you love dies."

Robert watches her, Winnie sitting between her outstretched legs. He can't see her eyes behind the dark glasses, but he knows from the set of her lips that she's trying to get back to cheerful.

"Wally," he reaches out and tweaks her toe. "Walllyyy."

"Mummmy, I wanna go play!"

"Fine!" she throws her hands up in exasperation. "Be free, ruin everything I've labored towards. I'll braid Robert's hair."

Winnie pauses on her feet, rocking. "Did you like the flowers?"

Wally's posture softens. "I loved the flowers love. No go play!"

She runs, shrieking towards the playground and the other children.

"Ugh." Wally stretches onto her stomach next to Robert, lying her forehead on his chest.

"You all right?" Her head rocks slightly beneath his palm. He tries again: "You, uh, wanna talk about it?" Again, the shake of the head. "You want me to shut-up?" No response. "Okay, this is what we're going to do." Sitting up, he moves to the other side of the blanket. "I'm going to sit like this and watch Winnie and you can come over here and take a nap."

"You should not be encouraging this behavior," she mutters, shifting to rest her head on his thigh.

"Yeah well, obviously your medicine's not working. Take off your glasses before you break them." He chuckles. "Who the hell put you in charge of a three-year old."

"Well it wasn't immaculate, I can tell you that much." she tries to backpedal over the words, knowing the leaving was her fault. "We can blame my dopamine imbalance."

he smirks. "And Grant."

To his relief, she plays along."Yes, we can also blame Grant's dealer for cutting E with poison, effectively causing his death and my decreased mental state."

"Anyone else we need to add to the list?"

"Well, it wasn't your fault, and we know I don't like taking responsibility, so…the bludger?"

"Your dad?"

"Obviously the root cause of all my problems," she says with mock seriousness.

"How's he doing, by the way?"

"No. Not know. We have six months of winter before us to talk about my father, we will not give him the blessing of this sunny day."

"Six months?" Robert makes a quizzical face. "I was planning on sticking around for tonight then booking. Two night stand."

"Three days, two nights? What am I, a budget cruise? Don't answer that. Let's play a game."

"What game?"

"You know exactly what game."

"Okay…uh, 'I'm curious about crocs too but I don't go sticking my head in their mouths.'"

A choking laugh comes from Wally's mouth. "'So this boomer just comes out of the bush.'"

"'And this sheila-'"

"Whoa, whoa!" she sits up, pointing an accusing finger. "I know exactly what story you were telling and who you were quoting when you said that and so it does not count!"

"It counts! The words came out of my mouth!"

"It only counts if you said it."

"I don't have anything else!" he laughs.

"It's been three years! Anything? Nothing about the Gafa or wallabies? Nothing about poisonous animals? Have you said that you were throwing any shrimps on the barbie?"

"Who even does that?"

"Apparently it's something Australians say."

He rubs her leg as he thinks. "What can I say, Wally? You just say more stupid shit than I do."

"Hey!" she thwacks him. "How do you pick up girls then? Don't Americans jump anything with an accent?"

"Yeah, but I definitely don't use 'shrimp on the barbie' as my pick-up line." he's laughing so hard at the idea he can hardly get through the sentence, and she sets to giggling as well.

"'Why don't we go back to my place,'" she says in her best impression. "'Throw some shrimp on the barbie?'"

He regains his composure. "Sounds like a sex act." That makes her start laughing again.

"What- what would that even entail?"

"God, I don't want to know. So, you going to help me finish this crossword?"

"Give it here, ya pom."

They spend the better part of the afternoon like that, her legs thrown over his, leaning against him as they do the puzzle.

"You should go on Jeopardy," he decides.

"It's not the clues, it's the letters _and _the clues."

"Could kick my ass."

"I dokick your ass." She checks her watch. "I've got to get going. Winnie! Come on, time to go!" the girl abandons her game and runs over to the blanket.

"Well, can I come over later then?"

"Um…sure, I guess. If you want. I mean, you know my feelings."

"Yeah, I also know your ability to triple guess your feelings and doubt the motives behind mine."

That stung. The blanket snapped rather sharper than necessary as she folded the blanket.

"Mummy, I got a hurt." Winnie held up her hand, sniffling. A nasty red scrape adorns it.

"Oh, you do, don't you." Wally crouches. "Let me see. Mwah!" she kisses it. "All better!"

"Will I have a scar like yours?"

"I don't know Winnie," she says gravely. "You may not survive."

"Your mum's joking, Winnie," Robert pipes in. "I'm a doctor, you can trust me. Come on Wally," he helps her to her feet. "I'll see you later?"

"Only 'cause I like your ass."


	14. Chapter 14

_It's cherry red, like her smallest kite. The colour always surprises her. It's on her forehead too; she must have moved some hair our of her face. _

_ "Wally?" Chase is frozen in the doorway. "Wally what did you do?" _

_ "I'm fine." she says, blinking. "Why wouldn't I be fine?" _

_ "Holy shit, Bo." he crouches next to the tub, staring at her glazed eyes. "What are you on?" _

_ "What do you mean?" _

_ "Holy-" he reaches out a hand and touches the two deep cuts on her thigh. "Wally, we've got to get you to the ER." _

_ "No…I'm…I think it was…it was something…something Grant had." _

_ There's that deep, almost naive confusion and pain in his eyes. She touches his cheek, leaving a smudge of blood. "No, no Robert don't look at me like that. I'm fine." _

_ "Fine?! Wally, you're high as a fucking kite, you just cut open your thigh!" he sees the razor blade lying on the side of the tub and throws it into the trash. "I'm taking you to hospital."_

_ "No, no!" she grabs his wrist. "That's where Jillie went. I don't want to go like Jillie." Tears start falling down her cheeks. Her eyes, already wide from the drugs, grow even wider. _

_ "Okay, okay I won't take you to hospital, all right?" He scrounges up a needle and suture from when he had practiced during med school and cleans the cuts on the inside of her thigh. _

_ "It's gonna hurt Wally," he says, voice lacking a lot of sympathy. _

_ "Give me another one of those pills then." _

_ "No." _

_ He focuses, stopping every few moments when she flinches. _

_ "I thought you wouldn't notice," she says tearfully. "I knew that if they were on my wrists-" _

_ "Wally, if these were on your wrists you could have died! They're really fucking deep." _

_ "I'm sorry." her voice cracks. "I'm sorry I just-" _

_ "No, it's alright." he cuts the thread. "It's not your fault. Come here." _

_ He hates those scars. They heal two thin, white lines, slightly off parallel. They are everything he cannot prevent. He kisses them sometimes, not trying to make them go away, but to remind her that he's there. _

She pulls open the door and stares at him. "Only since you brought beer, then."

"I know your soft spot. You want one now?" He sets the pack on the table and

"I was just getting ready to go take a shower if you wanted to join me," she smiles lazily, unable to stay angry at him for long.

They are the best thing the other can think of, all wet limbs and soapy hair. There're the laughs, high and low, as he half-lifts her up against him, kissing her. There are the matching smiles and the foreheads pressed together, but to her, each kiss is the loss of a thousand days she went without.

Later, they sit at the kitchen table, her feet propped on his chair, each only half-dressed with a beer in their hand.

"I love your hair down."

"Yeah, well you're the only one who ever sees it like this." It's tumbling down the shoulder of her blue t-shirt, letting damp soak into the cotton. "So enjoy it."

"Good." he winks. They sit in silence; he runs a hand up her shin, dancing fingers up to her knee.

"I swear to God!" she half kicks him.

He chuckles, "Come here, Wally."

"No, that boat just sank."

"Come here, Wally." He grabs the underside of her knee and tugs her forward, almost off her chair.

"You trying to kill me?"

"Come here, Wally." she's in his lap, and he's murmuring kisses onto her shoulder. "Bo." up her neck. "Bowen." he kisses along her jaw. "Bo, what's wrong?" She's been sitting with her eyes closed, lips hardly parted.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

Her eyelashes part just a little. "I missed you."

His mouth twitches up softly. "You missed me."

"I'm not saying it agai-" but his hands brush the bare of her legs, and there is no past.

The bed is empty when he wakes. The clock blinking above the stove reads a little after six. Rain drips against the window pane. There is nothing to be concerned about; she's always been an early riser.

The click of the door rouses him from a doze a little time later. Eyes closed, he listens to her kick off her shoes, hears the harsh sounds of her breath.

"You alright, Bo?"

"Just-" she gasps. "More out of shape then I thought. I haven't run in a while -" gasp "-won't leave Winnie alone."

"I don't like the sound of that." he half rises, but she waves a hand and keeps breathing, leaning back in the chair. The gasps fade after a few minutes, and she continues exercising. It's a routine he's familiar with: sit-ups, push-ups, obliques, stretching.

"Didn't get enough of a workout last night then?" He asks.

"Just cause you're the type of bludger to lie in bed all morning-!"

It's all so normal, the sounds of her getting ready. He listens to her singing off-key in the shower, listens to the hairdryer.

"You need in?" she appears wrapped in a towel. The air that wafts out from behind her smells like coconut. That's what she's always smelled of: coconut and Shea butter.

"Yeah, thanks."

Winnie's awake when he emerges, searching for the iron. Her small legs kick at the chair as she shovels corn flakes into her mouth.

"Over in the closet," Wally directs, head between her knees, fingers working the braids the cornrows up towards her crown. "D'you want me to get it?"

"I can iron my own shirt!"

"Debatable. Winnie, say good morning to Robert."

Through a bite of cornflakes, she mumbles something that could be 'morning Robert,' but he's not exactly sure.

"All there is is cornflakes if you want something to eat."

"I'm good thanks. Don't eat breakfast."

"Yeah, I know, just thought I'd offer." she secures the last braid with a translucent band and sits up. "What?" he's grinning broadly, looking at her.

"Your hair."

She secures the loose top and braid-ends into a bun. "Fuck-off."

"Don't talk like your mum, Winnie," he warns. "No matter how nice she looks." The little girl turns to look at him, eyes widened with slight confusion.

"Shut-up, I look how I do everyday."

He shrugs, concentrating on a crease in the yoke. "You look nice everyday."

She's wearing the red-checked button-down that matches the red flush of her cheeks as she glances away.

"So, what are you reading today, then?" he jerks his head at the bookshelf.

"I dunno." she saunters over.

"Maybe this one?" the cheeky look on his face tells her what it is before he hands it to her.

"Fuck you!"

"I do believe that's the offer I wrote on the inside. Can't believe you still have that."

"Notice I do keep it hidden on the top shelf, away from most prying eyes."

"If I were you, I'd keep it in the underwear drawer." he laughs as she tries to snatch it back. "Mine now."

She gives him a solid 'thwack' with the book she had come over for: _Kings and Caliphs: Islam's Presence in the Western World._ It had the same 50 cent sticker of all her books, bought in a box from an estate sale.

Wally hasn't always read; she was a mediocre student, apathetic with no external drive from teachers or her parents. Once she was laid up from kitesurfing for two months, however, there wasn't much that could be done but hold a book between her knees and read. Anything really: histories, science, biographies, fiction. The words fill her head in a way she likes, and once there, they never leave.

"Come on, Win, ready to go? I'll see you at the hospital, yeah?"

He kisses her on the cheek as he secures his tie. "You want me to take her? It's still raining out."

"You don't mind?"

"Not if she doesn't."

They both turn to look at her. "Win, you want to go with Robert in the car?"

"Yes!" Winnie's face brightens, more for the fact that she won't have to ride on the bike than that she's taken a liking to Robert. She's an odd thing, all locked up inside her own head with her rag doll. Her inquisitive nature is a near silent one, giving her an almost permanently confused look as questions run past the inside of her eyes, trapped in by the shyness that makes her seem hostile towards anyone but Wally. But she does like her mummy's friend in her own quiet way: he talks like them.

"Alright then. I'd be honored."

"Thanks a mil, Robert." She shrugs on the leather jacket.

"Least I can do. That always looked better on you."

She smiles, hand on the doorknob. "Of course it does. That's why I took it."


	15. Chapter 15

The bed is empty when he wakes. The clock blinking above the stove reads a little after six. Rain drips against the window pane. There is nothing to be concerned about; she's always been an early riser.

The click of the door rouses him from a doze a little time later. Eyes closed, he listens to her kick off her shoes, hears the harsh sounds of her breath.

"You alright, Bo?"

"Just-" she gasps. "More out of shape then I thought. I haven't run in a while -" gasp "-won't leave Winnie alone."

"I don't like the sound of that." he half rises, but she waves a hand and keeps breathing, leaning back in the chair. The gasps fade after a few minutes, and she continues exercising. It's a routine he's familiar with: sit-ups, push-ups, obliques, stretching.

"Didn't get enough of a workout last night then?" He asks.

"Just cause you're the type of bludger to lie in bed all morning-!"

It's all so normal, the sounds of her getting ready. He listens to her singing off-key in the shower, listens to the hairdryer.

"You need in?" she appears wrapped in a towel. The air that wafts out from behind her smells like coconut. That's what she's always smelled of: coconut and Shea butter.

"Yeah, thanks."

Winnie's awake when he emerges, searching for the iron. Her small legs kick at the chair as she shovels corn flakes into her mouth.

"Over in the closet," Wally directs, head between her knees, fingers working the braids the cornrows up towards her crown. "D'you want me to get it?"

"I can iron my own shirt!"

"Debatable. Winnie, say good morning to Robert."

Through a bite of cornflakes, she mumbles something that could be 'morning Robert,' but he's not exactly sure.

"All there is is cornflakes if you want something to eat."

"I'm good thanks. Don't eat breakfast."

"Yeah, I know, just thought I'd offer." she secures the last braid with a translucent band and sits up. "What?" he's grinning broadly, looking at her.

"Your hair."

She secures the loose top and braid-ends into a bun. "Fuck-off."

"Don't talk like your mum, Winnie," he warns. "No matter how nice she looks." The little girl turns to look at him, eyes widened with slight confusion.

"Shut-up, I look how I do everyday."

He shrugs, concentrating on a crease in the yoke. "You look nice everyday."

She's wearing the red-checked button-down that matches the red flush of her cheeks as she glances away.

"So, what are you reading today, then?" he jerks his head at the bookshelf.

"I dunno." she saunters over.

"Maybe this one?" the cheeky look on his face tells her what it is before he hands it to her.

"Fuck you!"

"I do believe that's the offer I wrote on the inside. Can't believe you still have that."

"Notice I do keep it hidden on the top shelf, away from most prying eyes."

"If I were you, I'd keep it in the underwear drawer." he laughs as she tries to snatch it back. "Mine now."

She gives him a solid 'thwack' with the book she had come over for: _Kings and Caliphs: Islam's Presence in the Western World._ It had the same 50 cent sticker of all her books, bought in a box from an estate sale.

Wally hasn't always read; she was a mediocre student, apathetic with no external drive from teachers or her parents. Once she was laid up from kitesurfing for two months, however, there wasn't much that could be done but hold a book between her knees and read. Anything really: histories, science, biographies, fiction. The words fill her head in a way she likes, and once there, they never leave.

"Come on, Win, ready to go? I'll see you at the hospital, yeah?"

He kisses her on the cheek as he secures his tie. "You want me to take her? It's still raining out."

"You sure?"

"Not if she doesn't mind."

They both turn to look at her. "Win, you want to go with Robert in the car?"

"Yes!" Winnie's face brightens, more for the fact that she won't have to ride on the bike than that she's taken a liking to Robert. She's an odd thing, all locked up inside her own head with her rag doll. Her inquisitive nature is a near silent one, giving her an almost permanently confused look as questions run past the inside of her eyes, trapped in by a silence that makes her seem hostile towards anyone but Wally. But she does like her mummy's friend: he talks like them.

"Alright then. I'd be honored."

"Thanks a mil, Robert." She shrugs on the leather jacket.

"Least I can do. That always looked better on you."

She smiles, hand on the doorknob. "Of course it does. That's why I took it."

"Happy Monday," Cameron says sardonically as Harding pushes through the door, shrugging off the jacket. She's sitting at the desk, answering emails.

"Joy, joy, joy."

"What did you do this weekend?"

"Not much. Read, took my kid to the museum."

"You have a kid?" Cameron's surprised.

"Yeah, a three year old."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Winnie."

"Aw, that's sweet."

"Yeah, sometimes. Other times she's a right brat."

Cameron snorts. The clicking of keys continues for several seconds. "I always wanted kids, but my husband died before we could have any."

Death is one thing Harding has no trouble conjuring sympathy for. "I'm so sorry."

She sighs. "It is what it is."

"It's what we say to make ourselves feel better, right? I wish it were that easy."

"Did…" Cameron tries to form her question so as not to be insensitive. "Did Winnie's father...?"

"No, but my siblings. All four of them."

"Oh god. Was there an accident or-?"

"Suicide, drugs, anorexia, accident." she shrugs, brushing away the thought and the subject. "It is what it is. What d'you do this weekend, then?"

They're having a fairly animated chat about favored work-out routines when Chase enters.

"There ya go then." he tosses a white paper bag to Harding.

"Ta?"

"You sound confused."

She glances inside. "You're gonna spoil her. I feed her cornflakes for a reason."

Chase snorts. "That girl who works the front desk there-"

"Is the biggest fucking drongo, I know." She pulls the bear-claw from the bag and pulls off a piece. "She asked me the other day if an allergic reaction was contagious."

"Who's this?" Cameron asks.

"The receptionist at Winnie's daycare. She's, like, the owner's daughter or something, but is just such an airhead. I'd almost feel bad for her if she weren't so daggy."

"Fuckin' aye." Chase nods in agreement as he leans over the table and rips off a bit of the bear-claw, evoking an 'oi!' from Harding.

Cameron chuckles, pushing away from the computer. "The Australian in this room is just a little too high for me. Chase, you have clinic duty."

"Fuck." he checks his watch. "Yeah. See you all."

"Hey!" he turns, still half backing from the room. "Thanks."

"No prob, Bo. Probably owe you that one."

She snorts. "Shut-up and go help some sick people, ya bastard."


	16. Chapter 16

_The weather has cooled significantly. Now when Wally goes out in the mornings, it's in a wet suit. April southerlies bite at the waves, whipping them into a frenzy as they walk from the cafe towards the church. _

_She leans against him as they walk, holding his arm with one hand, and keeping her dress from flying up with the other. A gust comes chasing along the shore, sending her toddling a little in her heels. _

_ Robert looks down, amused. "Should we get a cab?" _

_ "No, it's just a few more blocks. It's just the damn wind." _

_ "You ever been to mass?" _

_ "Uh, one time I participated in _Tarawih_ every night during Ramadan with my roommate." _

_ "Did you fast?" _

_ "Um, considering I was exercising five hours a day and working doubles at that point, I excused myself." _

_ "Wasn't your mum Lutheran?" _

_ "Yes, but we stopped going once she died. I never really had that altar-boy spirit anyway," she jokes. She always teases him about the fact he went to seminary, not because she's derogatory, but just because he's so good compared to her. _

_ "I think Lutheran's have acolytes, don't they?" They turn down a side street and join the stream of people, all in their Easter best. They climb the steps and disentangle themselves as they get out of the wind. _

_ The sanctuary smells of old wood and musty stone, as if its been standing since the beginning of time. Robert doesn't smile at anyone in particular; he only comes here three times a year - Easter, Christmas, and his mother's birthday - not nearly enough for anyone to recognize him. He leads her down the aisle and into a pew, settling with an arm around her; they've been together a year, more than long enough for him to know when she's uncomfortable. _

_ "So, what do you believe, then?" _

_ She turns, surprised at the question. Wisps have escaped her french braid, making a halo behind her head. The wind has brought colour into her already rosy cheeks. Her unruly eyebrows are raised over eyes catching the late evening sun. A look of helplessness draws over her face, as she grasps for words to describe the faith that three dead siblings and a dead-beat father leaves you with. Strains from the organ save her from answering. _

_ She stares at herself in the mirror later that night. It's not something she does often: she does her hair without looking, never wears make-up, but right now she's forcing herself to examine her reflection as she combs out her damp hair. _

_ "Robert?" She can see him in the mirror too: through the doorway to the bed where he's lying, doing something on the laptop. _

_ "Hm?" _

_ "I believe in something or someone knew your quitting seminary wasn't a bad thing because you were meant to save me, and I'm sorry I'm so sad all the time, and I'm sorry you have to take care of me but I'm so glad you do and that I have you because if I didn't I don't know where I would be without you." _

_ She says it all so quickly that he can hardly hear what she's saying. They're left staring at each other through the mirror in a stunned silence._

_ Robert closes the computer and sets it on the bedside table. "Come here Bowen." _

_ She shakes her head, looking down. "No, I'm sorry. That was stupid-" _

_ He sighs in exasperation. "Just come 'ere Bo." _

_ Setting the comb down on the counter, she turns and walks to the edge of the bed. They turn down the sheets and crawl in. For a while they just lie on their sides, looking at each other. He reaches out a hand and takes a lock of hair from her shoulder, twining it around his finger. _

_ "You would've liked my mother," he says finally. "Before - before all the alcohol and everything. She would have adored you. When I was a kid, she used to take in all my friends. She loved having them over, loved making picnics for us to take to the beach…" _

_ "She sounds wonderful." _

_ "She was." _

_ He pulls her a little and they shift so their heads rest on the same pillow. _

_ "Jillie, when we were kids, would always do my make-up. She had this huge stash of Mum's that she hid from Dad and she loved to put it on me. I have this picture of us somewhere, she's like nine or ten, and I'm six, and we're in these plaid pinafores from school and she's crouching in front of me, and I have make-up all over my face. I look like a fucking clown." she laughs at the memory. "I think Bas took it. He would've been about fourteen, and I remember him laughing so hard at us. I don't think I saw him laugh like that after." _

_ "Have you talked to Grant or Gage since the funeral?" _

_ She brushes a piece of hair off his forehead, nodding sleepily. "Gage, yes. He says Grant is just rotten all the time, says he punched him last week." _

_ "Grant punched Gage?" _

_ "Yeah. In front of Lyssa and all." _

_ "Fuck." _

_ "Let's not talk about it." she rests her cheek against his. He smells like soap, plain and simple; he's never been one for cologne. His hand draws small circles on her back. Slowly, she kisses his jaw, trailing her mouth down his neck. Her hand slips under the hem of his shirt, toying along his stomach. The groan that he gives thrills her. _

_ "Wally." _

_ "Hm?" she draws back, a little happier, and nestles closer to him. _

_ "I'm glad I have you." his eyes are serious, ernest. "Maybe I left so you could save me." _

_ She rubs a thumb over his cheek, and kisses him, sleepily, slowly. _

_ "I love you," he murmurs into her mouth. She draws back, surprised. _

_ "I can't remember," she says slowly. "the last time someone said that to me." she kisses him again, harder, then giggles. "I'm sorry, I just - I love you too." _

_ He flicks her nose, laughing. "You are such a dag." _

_ "Shut-up you pom!" _


	17. Chapter 17

"Harding. God, is she listening?" Wilson grabs a piece of paper off the table and throws it at the woman.

"Hm?" she pulls out her earbuds and glances up. "Sorry. How can I help you?"

"I need a consult."

"Um," she clicks her tongue. "Not a doctor."

"It's not strictly medical. I'll explain on the way. Come on."

She shrugs at Foreman who's been watching and follows Wilson from the room.

"This girl came into the clinic with a cold, but - do you have any experience with eating disorders? I mean, I want to ask her, but I want to be sure first."

"Shouldn't you call a psychiatrist?"

"She's young, sixteen. I don't want to scare her off. I thought maybe you could talk to her, scope it out."

Harding sighs. "Yeah, I'll do it. No problem."

"Great. Exam room two. Alice Miller." He gestures at the doors of the clinic. "I'll be out here."

"She has a kid." Cameron and Foreman are alone in the office, talking softly.

He considers this. "Chase's?"

"I dunno, didn't ask."

"Why not?"

"Because it's none of my business."

"If it's none of your business, why are you telling me?"

"Do you think it's why they broke up?"

Foreman turns away, returning to his charts. "I think it's none of my business."

"Well I think it's nice that they're back together."

He looks up, amused. "How do you figure?"

"Chase dropped her kid off at daycare. He was obviously already over at her place."

"Two people don't just pick up where they left off; especially after whatever shit they went through."

"Maybe they're over it."

He scoffs. "Doubtful. Most likely, Chase just wanted some and took the opportunity."

"Wow, is he that much of a slut now?" Harding's just walked in the door, and threw herself into a chair. Red has angrily pooled in her cheeks. "I just had to threaten to call child services before some bitch would let me admit her daughter to psych."

"It can be hard to accept that your kid is sick," Foreman suggests, grateful for the subject change.

"Hard to accept, my ass. Cunt just didn't want her to 'get chubby' on hospital food. Her words, not mine. Ugh!" she swings herself up and goes to pour coffee. "That's why your kid is fucked up. So," she says, ripping open a sugar packet. "You think Robert's just using me?"

"I never said-"

"Please, I can read him like a book. It's guilt sex." she winks saucily, fingers wrapped around her mug. Anxiety is clawing its way up her spine, progressing no matter how many times she tried to swallow it back. Words have to keep circulating through her mind, the amused look has to stay on her face; if you fake it, you can eventually feel it, or it will go away before you need to.

Foreman can't help himself. "So the kid's his then?"

Raising an eyebrow, Harding settles on the edge of the table. "Kid's mine."

"Obviously, but-"

"There is no but. She's mine."

"So it was immaculate?"

"The Amazons used to kill men after shagging them, raising children alone." She takes a drink. "I sacrificed him during a full moon on the top of Uluru."

"Weird fucking part of the conversation to join in on." Chase comes in, and grabs her coffee mug. "Ugh, I'd forgotten how you take this. Use some milk."

"What do I look like, a savage? Now," she takes it back. "I was just hearing about what a slut you are."

"I'm not-" he laughs disbelievingly.

"Foreman says otherwise."

The man nods. "You're kind of a slut, Chase."

"Ha!" Harding throws her head back gleefully.

"This is unfair!" he says over his shoulder, pouring his own coffee. "This is unfairly stacked. Cameron, defend me."

"Don't do it, Cameron."

"Yeah, Cameron, let him suffer."

Foreman looks at Harding in mock confusion. "Twenty-two down, 'a deadly sin,' four letters."

"Nice one, mate." they slap hands.

"You are such a cunt."

"Apparently you like those."

Cameron can't help herself; she chokes on her water in laughter.

The days stretch on, each cooler than the next. Harding stretches her dollar to get Winnie some more appropriate clothes at the charity shop, even if it means eating more ramen than she'd like. She and Chase hover somewhere on the horizon of happy and confused; she doesn't know where he stands on Winnie, or whether or not they're back together, but the way he touches her makes her feel weak in the knees, and she remembers how perfectly vulnerable he makes her feel. They see each other outside of work maybe three times a week, and one of these times he just lays her down on the couch and kisses her slowly, kisses her until their lips go numb, until every bit of sand and sun that she had swept out of their old flat finds its way back into her skin and reminds her how to feel. She remembers, in these long nights, how much she likes to make him groan against her skin and feel his hands in her hair. She hasn't worn it down longer than to wash it in years, but now he gathers it in handfuls and tugs her head back to bite her neck.

They don't know, lying side by side on the bed, what they are, or if they're just standing on a pier, staring futilely at a green light far away. Somedays all she can think about is Gatsby, and how useless it all is.

Still, he surprises her one night by asking if she's ever going to tell Winnie who he is.

"I mean…if you want me too. I didn't know how you felt, so-"

"No, you - you should tell her." he's been staring at the lines on her palm, and now looks up. She knows the look in his eyes, it's one she's seen often on herself: a strange mixture of uncertainty and determination.

"Well, I figure she'll start wondering why everyone else has a dad soon enough and ask. I'll tell her then."

"Cause you don't trust me?"

_'Cause I don't trust fathers. _"Cause I don't see any reason to confuse her."

They don't talk about it anymore than that. Chase doesn't want to hurt her pride by offering her help: he knows that comes slowly. So instead he steps back, occasionally offering rides or dinner. Mainly he makes sure that Wally always has something to read, that her prescription remains filled, and that she smiles.

He could deal with anything as long as she smiles enough.


	18. Chapter 18

This is where she feels calm: pouring a cup of water over Winnie's hair, holding her head back in her hand to avoid getting soap in her daughter's eyes. The smell of the coconut shampoo has permeated the bathroom. In these moments, she resents Robert's presence in her life, not just now, but ever. Life is simple, just her and Winnie.

Water sloshes against the side of the tub as she lifts her out and helps her into her pajamas. She brushes Winnie's hair, straight and slick.

"You want braids?"

"Yes."

"Hold still, then."

It's the one "mother" thing in which Bowen is confident of her abilities. She parts Winnie's hair straight down the centre, and deftly forms two perfect braids.

"All done." she kisses the top of her head. "D'you want to read tonight Win?"

"Yes!"

"All right, Mummy's gonna take a shower then we can read. Go choose a book."

She's mad at Robert, and she takes the anger out on her scalp, scrubbing her hair until it almost hurts. There's no particular reason she's mad, she doesn't really even have a reason to be mad. It's completely unfounded, she tells herself. She told him she didn't want him to feel pressured to be involved with Winnie, but now she's not quite sure if he meant it. After the first couple of days it's almost as if he avoided the kid: didn't look at her, only came over once she was in bed. It made her want to punch him.

But instead she turns off the shower and climbs out, drying her hair with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. It's gotten darker since June, as soon as she began living with her aunt and not on the beach. Her tan lines have started to fade as well: she's forgotten how pale olive toned her skin actually is. Her hair isn't nice like Winnie's either, but wild, somewhere between mane and cloud, that's part of the reason it stays in braids all the time.

"You ready Win?"

The girl nods earnestly, hopping onto the bed Bowen's already folded out. They climb in, cuddling together. Winnie rests her head on her mum's shoulder, looking at the pictures as she opens the book.

"Once upon a time," Bowen read, her voice soft. "there was a funny dog named Crispin's Crispian. He was named Crispin's Crispian because-" she flipped the page, smiling down at the head on her shoulder. A damp spot was spreading out on the shirt, left by Winnie's hair. "- he belonged to himself."

By the time she's finished the second story, Winnie is fast asleep, small mouth fallen open. Bowen stares at her through half-closed eyes, sleepy smile on her face.

Threads of anxiety start forming in her stomach, she can feel them, twining their way up, pushing through her veins. They twine around her heart, forcing it into a faster rhythm. She tries to breathe steadily, but there's nothing stopping the feeling.

* * *

_It's like not being able to breathe. She stares down at the stick in her hand, willing it to be wrong. After a moment, her heart restarts, and she tries to combat the rising anxiety. _

_ "Holy mother-fucking shit cunt fuck shit bastard-" she tosses the pregnancy test into the bin with two others and stands, walking out into the living room. "-Christ-almighty, buggering, ass-sucking-" _

_ After two years together the living room is littered with them both. Pictures in frames on the shelf - Robert and Wally at the beach, in Cape Town for one of her competitions, camping in the outback -, her board leaning by the front door, his forgotten stethoscope laying on the coffee table. _

_ "-cock-sucking fuck twat bloody-" _

_ She stares at everything, looks around at what they've built, then bursts into tears. _

Just a slut from Lake Heights.

_ It's still early, not even ten. Wally grabs her phone, flipping it open, then snapping it shut again. Jillie is gone, Bastille, Gage, Grant, her mother. She has no one. There's no one to call. She hasn't cried like this in a while, not since the first funeral: the painful, clawing sobs that rack your body. She thinks about Robert, in his second hour of a twelve-hour shift, how tired he'll be when he gets back. _Do you like it? _she asks sometimes. _I will one day,_ he always says. _I'm working my way up, Wally. Paying my dues._ That's all she thinks of. She doesn't think of how they'll eat supper, watch some telly, then collapse into bed. She forgets how every night he kisses her cheek and whispers that he loves her. It's as if the pictures of them together cease to exist. All she can think of is him. _I will one day.

* * *

She doesn't sleep that night. Instead she lies with Winnie curled next to her, thinking of all the things that could go wrong. Ridiculous things, absurd things. At one point, around three am, she bursts into tears as she glances at her daughter only to realize that one day Winnie's going to grow old and die, and there's nothing she can do about it. Closer to morning she thinks about Robert, and cries afresh at the anxiety and regret of having left. Then she begins worrying about Winnie again.

Morning finally comes, and she walks into the office bleary eyed. Her splotchy face immediately gives her away.

"You right?" Chase asks, shoving a mug into her hands. His fingers find her wrist, searching for signs of one of her attacks. "Your heart's mad. You ever go get your prescription changed?"

She jerks her wrist away. "I'm fine. Just…bad night."

"I'd say; you look terrible."

With a great huff, she collapses into a chair, rubbing at her eyes and trying to muster a smile. "Oh fuck off." But her stomach is yet to untie itself.


	19. Chapter 19

"Okay," Harding throws herself onto the stool. "So, Gabe. Parents popped out? They say where they were going?"

"Dad took a call, and my mom went home to get me some things."

"Fantastic." she flips open her notebook. "They still arguing?"

"Yeah, they've never really gotten along."

"Mine neither. Parents can be shit sometimes. So, I need to ask you some kinda weird questions, which is why I'm glad they're gone."

"Weird questions?" the kid wrinkled his nose. "Couldn't a guy do this?"

Harding grins. "I grew up with three brothers, and have been into more shenanigans in my life than you could imagine. I promise you, I've heard it all before."

"Shenanigans?"

"Aus is a dark place, kid."

"Dark enough to use the word shenanigans?"

"Oh-ho. Someone's feeling a little cheeky. That's good. Means you're feeling better. Now, sex?"

Gabe sighed self-deprecatingly. "As if. Girls don't even look at me?"

Harding sat back a little, looking thoughtful. "How old are you? Twelve, thirteen?"

"Twelve."

"Okay, so I have destroyed all photographic evidence of me at age twelve. I was spotty, scrawny, had no tits to speak of, and acted like a boy. Which, I still do now, but at the time, I looked like a boy too. And not the good kind of tom-boy, but the kind that gets called a lesbo, yeah?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is now I have a kid, so I obviously got laid at some point."

"But I've never even been kissed."

"Did you just miss my whole story? No one bothered to kiss me until I was fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Gabe's eyes widen.

"Yeah don't fucking tell anyone. So no sex then? Never without your permission or-"

"No!"

"All right," she holds up a hand. "I've got to make sure. It's my job. See ya later then." She's half-way out the door when he asks, somewhat embarrassedly, if he can ask her a question. "Sure thing."

He flushes. "Someone…someone told me that…"

"Oh spit it out. I told you, I've heard it all before."

"…that girls like tongue?"

She swallows a smile. "Tongue? Like in kissing?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, it's a thing, I guess. Guys like it too though, its…reciprocal. See ya, then." She hurries away before she starts laughing. It's the hysterical kind of giggling that bubbles up from an extended length of sheer unhappiness. She manages to compose herself before re-entering the office.

She's flipping a page when Mr Reilich storms in the door. House is the first to speak, irritated.

"Yes, of course, come right in."

He glances around, eyes landing on Harding. "Hey, you!"

She turns, then stands, setting her book aside. "Yes sir, how can I help you?"

"You talked to my son?" the man steps forward, a little to close. He's a head taller than Harding, but she holds herself straight, not flinching against his tone. "You asked him about _sex?_He's _twelve._"

"Yes sir, I did. We just had to make sure that-"

"Why the hell wasn't I consulted?"

She keeps her tone even. "I figured he would be more comfortable answering if neither you nor his mother were in the room." Chase has stood at the table, tensed. Even Foreman's lean against the cabinet has become more alert.

"What? You think he's ashamed to tell us he hasn't had sex?"

"No, but if he had been sexually active, he would have been more likely to be open about it with just me."

Reilich flexes his hand, and steps a little closer. "He's a good kid. Just because you were a whore at twelve-"

Every nerve is firing. Her hand curls, her weight shifts to the balls of her feet. She feels her core tighten. "Sir, I know you're under a tremendous amount of pressure, but there's no need to speak like that."

"I'll speak however I damn well-"

A hand grabs Harding's shoulder and pulls her back a little. Chase is there. "What she means to say, _sir, _is fuck off before we call security."

Reilich opens his mouth again, as if to retort, then thinks better of it and slams out of the room.

"Well," House says after a tense moment. "That was fun."

"Factually inaccurate," Harding says as she lowers herself into her chair. She's shaking as the adrenaline fades from her system. "I wasn't a whore till I was sixteen at least." Her voice sounds harsh, but when her phone rings, she jumps.

"You shouldn't have talked to him like that Chase." Cameron says as Harding leaves to take the call. "He'll tell Cuddy."

He shrugs, unconcerned. "And say what? 'I called your social worker a whore and your doctor had the nerve to defend her?' He's lucky nothing worse happened. She used to have a real temper."

"Here's a crazy idea," House chirps. "Maybe, if we diagnose his kid, he'll leave."

"Chase let me use your car?" Harding pokes her head back into the room.

"Why?"

He know's she's trying to hold it together. Her expression is perfectly neutral, but red stains around her eyes. It's when she doesn't react he knows she's at her worst. "Winnie's fucking sick. Gotta go get her. Don't want to take the bike."

"You're bringing her back here?"

"Yeah, House offered to let her sleep on the chair in his office."

"Whoa whoa whoa. I did not offer to let your snot nosed kid anywhere near-"

But she's caught the keys already. "Oops sorry didn't catch that," she calls, letting the door swing shut behind her.


	20. Chapter 20

Winnie doesn't have a cold, like the call from daycare made it sound like, she's _sick._ Her skin almost burns against the cheek that Harding presses to her forehead.

"Oh, poor lovey." She balances her on her hip, receiving no help from the limp arms and heavy head that's resting on her shoulder. A plastic bag dangles from one wrist, filled with cough syrup and juice.

"Mummy…wanna go home," Winnie mutters, half-asleep.

"I know baby, but Mummy's got to work. We'll tuck you in all nice, all right?"

They're almost to the office when Chase appears. "I've got to go check this place out. Keys?"

"Back pocket."

He takes them, replacing them with her's he'd snatched. "She right?"

"She's sick," Harding eyes him. "What's wrong?"

He grimaces. "My dad."

"Here?"

"Talking to House."

"Fuck." she shifts Winnie, grunting a little.

"You okay, then? After Gabe's dad-"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me: I've dealt with worse." she jerks her head down the hall. "Go on then. I'll hope your dad doesn't remember me."

He frowns. "You were the only one of my girlfriends he ever liked."

"Well then: I'll pretend like I don't remember him."

She doesn't, of course. She clasps his hand and kisses his cheek. "How are you, Rowen?"

"Very well, my dear. And you?"

"Oh, you know, a sick little one. Never a fun day. Let me go put her down." She returns after laying Winnie down in House's dark office. "What are you doing state-side then?"

"Conference in the city. I was going to come and say hello to Robert, but-"

Harding puts a cup of tea into his hands. "Well, I see both sides, so not sure I'm the one to convince him."

Rowen chuckles. "There's that Aussie honesty. You and Robert going back any time soon?"

"Oh no we're not- I came out here in June to take care of my aunt. Winnie and I are moving back as soon as possible." That was the plan, but now - like everything - a wrench has been thrown into it.

"You two aren't together? So that's-" he gestures to where Winnie sleeps.

"What, you think we had a kid and didn't tell you?" she laughs sardonically. "No, we haven't been together for almost four years."

Rowen just 'hms' and sips his tea, but he knows the eyes of the little girl that blinked at him sleepily.

* * *

"I'm not gonna be much fun," she warns. "Grab her then, will you?"

Robert looks down at Winnie, then stoops awkwardly, scooping her up. She's still warm, and oddly heavy for someone so small. He arranges her in his arms as best as possible. It's like being a kid again, picking up his baby sister.

"That's all right. I just don't really feel like drinking alone." He's overly conscious of the arms around his neck, the cheek on his shoulder. "I'm surprised he didn't convince you to tell me to see him."

"You know how I feel about fathers. Though I assume on a base level that yours is better than mine."

Robert grunts noncommittally. "If you want to take her in the car, I'll take the bike and go get food, since I'm imposing. What do you want?"

"Whatever. And don't bother for her, I've got soup at home." She hesitates, playing with her bun as he slides Winnie into the backseat. "And I know it's not a fantastic time but could we…talk about something?"

"You never want to talk."

"Oh, don't look so suspicious." she leans up on her tip-toes to kiss him, taking the keys from his hand. "Nothing bad. Just to make me feel better."

"Right." His eyebrows raise, then lower just as quickly. "See you in a sec, then. Thai good then?"

_The sun is like an oven, even through the scarf she's wrapped around her head. She stands at the pump under the awning, watching petrol leak away her cash. All there is along this part of Highway One is land, dry and packed. Scrubby trees eek out an existence under a dome of a sky. _

_ "You look like you could use a drink." _

_ She jumps, not having heard the door of the small store squeak open. An elderly woman sticks her head out. _

_ "I'm all right, thank you." _

_ "It's too hot to be crying like that. Come inside." _

_ Bowen nods, grateful. A/C hits her like a wall, drying her tears. The woman cracks open a bottle of water, icy from the cooler. _

_ "There ya go. I'm Sarah." _

_ She stops drinking to answer. "Bowen." _

_ "What you running from, Bowen?" _

_ "Who says I'm running?" _

_ "You're crying and have your life tied to your bike. A man?" _

_ "Sort of." _

_ "Where you from?" _

_ "Sydney. I'm going to Perth." _

_ Sarah nods. "Everyone who passes through here is. Did you love him?" _

_ "Still do. It's why I'm leaving." _

_ "Sounds like some fucked up logic to me." _

_ "It isn't. Not in my shoes. Thank you, for the water." _

_ "No problem. If you drive fast, you'll be at the nearest motel before nine." _

_ "Thank you. I really…I really appreciate it." _

_ "Not many things to appreciate in life somedays." _

_ Bowen touches her stomach accusingly."Isn't that the truth." _


	21. Chapter 21

Robert never feels more absurdly rich then when he walks through Wally's apartment complex. The fact that she feels comfortable living here is a testament to where she grew up. Security lights on the sides of the buildings only half work, illuminating spray-painted tags. Two teenagers stare at him as he passes from where they sit on the curb, beer bottles between their hands.

"Hey!" A scrawny man scuttles up the stairs alongside him. "You're Bo's guy, yeah?"

Robert gives him a sideways look. He's more of a kid than anything, with a shock of ginger hair. "Yeah."

"Give her this for me, will you? I owe her one!" he claps a small baggy into Robert's hand.

Old habits shove the bag directly into his pocket. "Right."

"Thanks man!" he scrambles away down the landing, entering the apartment directly below Wally's.

Robert reaches the top of the cement stairs. Wally's door is shabby as all the rest, green paint peeling, the '3' askew. He doesn't bother knocking, just shoves it open, stepping into the main room.

A single lamp gives gold light to the room, casting the corners into shadow. Wally sits directly opposite the door at the round table, foot in her chair as she dabs at a cut on her knee. The other foot trails on the floor, resting on the threshold between peeling linoleum and musty carpet. The fridge buzzes loudly on to his right, audible even under the bass emanating from cheap speakers.

She glances up. "Lock that, will you?"

"What happened?" he slides the chain into place.

"Cut myself shaving. My hand was shaking."

"Hm." setting the bag of food down on the table, he grabs her knee, pulling it towards him as he sits. It's a slice more than a nick, perfectly horizontal just above her knee. Red wells, then fades as he dabs it, only to well again. "You sure?"

She eyes him. "It was a bad day, but not that bad."

"Speaking of-" he produces the baggie from his pocket. "Your neighbor sent this up for you."

"Sweet. Oh don't look at me like that," she snatches it away. "I didn't buy it. I stopped him from getting his assed kicked the other day." she sniffs. "Good shit."

"I thought you didn't smoke anymore. Here." he hands her a carton and chopsticks.

"Thanks. And I don't, but I'm not gonna turn down a free eighth. Or whatever these are." she flicks at the two white pills on top of the weed. "Rainy day."

"Keep the weed," Robert says through a full mouth. "Throw out the pills. What did you want to talk about?"

She's slumping in her chair, one foot in his lap, hair wet. At his words, she flushes. There are few people in the world whose face gives them away like Wally. "Nothing, it's stupid." she shakes her head, taking another bite of noodles.

He shrugs. "Okay." and waits. After she swallows, she speaks.

"I'm just…I dunno. Confused? Irritated? Both? Because I really don't know where we stand. And not - this isn't about me. It's mostly about Winnie." Her thoughts come out half-formed in times like this. "I just - I just thought you wanted to be involved and that's why I let you meet her but now. It's like you ignore her, you know? Like, you don't really look at her or talk to her and you only come over when she's asleep and I just don't know." She's been speaking to her take-out, but now she risks glancing upwards. He's looking away, rubbing his chin as he thinks, mouth open as if trying to push words out.

"I'm worried that she'll end up like Molly if I have anything to do with her."

Wally freezes for a moment, then slowly, deliberately, sets her food on the table and slides onto the floor. The linoleum is cold under her bare knees, but she kneels by him and lays her cheek on his thigh. They sit like that for a long time before she sits up, taking his hand. Tears stain her face, and threaten his eyes.

"I don't know," she says carefully. "What you did to deserve being stuck with such guilt."

"Come here." He needs her closer, needs her to sit on his lap, to hide his face in her skin. "I don't even think my father's seen her in years."

"I'm so sorry," she whispers into his hair. "I'm so sorry." It's the one permanent thing in her heart: loosing a sibling you've tried to take care of. But even she doesn't know if she could deal with having one alive, just gone.

"But that wasn't you, Robert," she murmurs. "You did everything you could. You couldn't've controlled everything. She learned from your mother how to deal with her problems, that wasn't on you."

"But-"

"Mummy." Winnie appears in the entrance hallway, clutching her rag doll. Her face is less flushed, her eyes brighter. "I'm hungry."

Wally slides off of Robert's lap, giving a watery chuckle as she wipes her eyes. "Are you lovey? Well that's good. Come on, sit down. I'll make you some soup."

For the first time he thinks to ask her, as she hops into Wally's abandoned chair, what her doll's name is.

"Dorothy." Doh-ty.

"Dorothy? That's a pretty name."

"Because Dorothy left Oz too."

He turns to look at Wally, standing at the stove; she shrugs. "What can I say? The kid's got a knack for homophones."

He just shakes his head, feeling oddly in awe.


	22. Chapter 22

Rowen leaves, feeling a little resolved. Autumn falls into Winter, bitterly cold. Robert finds Wally outside one morning, bare feet, staring up.

"I've never seen snow before."

"You'll see more than you'll ever want to before April. Come on in, it's freezing."

She's never had toes so numb before.

At one point in December they spend several days at his flat, Winnie sleeping in the spare room; he pretends like he doesn't know it's because the heat's been turned off in theirs.

They go to Cameron's Christmas party, Winnie in tow ("Sorry, I couldn't get a sitter") and when asked about the girl coloring in the corner, Robert responds that she's his, making Bo smile. It's Winnie's first real Christmas, with toys for her to unwrap. Bo gets Robert the silliest ties she can find - just as she did every year they were together - and he gives her a pair of boots ("Your fucking trainers make my feet feel cold every time I look at them.") They even go to Mass, all three of them, Winnie dozing off on Robert's arm. He rubs circles onto Bowen's hand with his thumb. Candles catch the rounded planes of her face as she turns to look at him.

_What do you believe in?_ he mouths.

She smiles, full of sleepy contentment. _You._ jerking her head down at the sleeping girl. _Her. _"Her most of all." her voice is a soft whisper underneath the Latin of communion.

After the service they step out into the dark snow, swinging Winnie down the steps between them. For the first time, she doesn't hate the city. There's something about the bare trees and icy air, orange lights reflecting off clouds. You can taste the holiday in the air, lurking under exhaust and poverty and ice. Robert grabs her and they dance to silent music, laughing, bundled in scarves and coats and hats. Passersby smile at the small family as they hurry to their cars, glad that there is still cohesion in the world.

But not everything is so contented. Most days she stares out the window in the office, fingers curled around a mug. Sometimes watching the snow helps her to breathe, other times it makes the anxiety swirling around her that much worse. She feels shut in, trapped. The attacks become longer, more frequent. He knows the dates to watch her: November 24th (Bastille's birthday), January 6th (Jillie's), but he protects her pride, never says anything so long as she's sober. She spends more and more time with Winnie, reading to her, watching her play; Winnie keeps her calm even when there's hardly money for food, even when the creditors call about her aunt's medical bills.

In January comes back in from a phone call, tugging angrily at the end of her braid. Her face is in a permanent shade of blushed, either from cold or emotion. "Robert, can you take care of Winnie Saturday? I've got to go down to Philly, take care of some things of my aunt's."

He leans back in his chair. "You need the car?"

"No it's fine, I'll take the train." she shoves her braid away, irritated. He spends time that night trying to rub away the nail marks on the back of her neck.

"What happened there?" he asks softly. "With your aunt, I mean?"

"Well, you know I'd been staying at Carlene's, out in Perth - crazy bitch - and I'd been there for almost three years. So when her mum called, I figured I could come out here for a little while, go back and start over."

"But?"

"But there was no money. She convinced me to cosign some loans, and then she kicked it."

"Did she know?"

"Yeah, but my family is historically determined to screw me over."

"Did you know?"

"I majored in sociology not financial law."

He tries to kiss her, but she turns away, curling into herself.

She shows up to his flat Saturday night, fingers cold, hat pulled low over her face.

"How'd it go?"

"Fuck me." she shakes her head. "Fucking awful. Lady was a frigid cunt who thought I was a drain on the resources of the United States."

"So no lower interest rate?"

"Nope." she shucks off her jacket and pulls off her hat, dumping them both on the couch.

"Holy shit."

She turns, eyebrows raised. "Do you hate it? I got frustrated, and it seemed…like a healthy solution. But I'm regretting it now."

He runs a hand over her hair; it's cut to her chin, accentuating the curliness. She's braided part of it back in an attempt to tame it. "I think," he says, "that I want to fu-"

"Winnie!" she cuts him off with a laugh. "How are you lovey?"

"Mummy you're home."

"And you should be in bed!" Bo lifts her up. "Did you have a good day?"

"Mmhmm. We went to the aqua- to the aquarium."

"Did you see the sharks?"

"They were scary!"

Bo nods seriously. Her face glows when she talks to Winnie. "Well, you'll have to tell me all about it in the morning! All right? Go get in bed."

They watch her disappear back into the bedroom.

"Robert," Bo grabs his collar, pulling him to her. "I think you need to finish that thought."

"Which one?" he teases. "The one about me liking your hair?"

"Uh, the one after that."

"Oh. The one where I fuck you so hard you forget about interest rates?"

"Yes, that one." she wriggles up on her toes to kiss him. "That one would be very nice."


	23. Chapter 23

She and Cameron aren't exactly friends, but they talk for lack of other women. In March, when the snow begins to melt into slush, they go out to lunch, if only to get away from the men.

"Can I ask you a question?" Cameron asks. They're picking their way around puddles, hands in pockets.

"Shoot."

"Do you believe in true love?"

Harding has become use enough to Cameron's idyllic nature that she doesn't laugh. "No."

"Why not?"

"Cause I think that there's more than one person that you can be compatible with, but I think that once you find someone you're ridiculously happy with, you should stop looking."

"Then why did you and Chase get back together?"

"Ah, the real question. I stopped looking even after I left."

"But you're ridiculously happy?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I'm just ridiculously content, but I know what I've got's good enough to stop looking. But what about you?" water drips off the eaves and down her spine, making her shiver. "You're talking like you met someone."

Cameron sighs. "Sadly, no. You remember when you were in high school, wanting to leave so you could date college guys? And then in college, wanting to date grad students?"

"So, what you're saying is you're looking towards the nursing home?" Harding teases, only to get an elbow to the ribs. "Ow! Vicious, are we?"

"It's just hard to find guys, you know?"

"Trust me, I get it. But sometimes you've got to stop looking."

Cameron rolls her eyes. "You don't believe in true love, but you're one of those 'it'll come to you' types?"

"No, I'm just saying that mates sometimes make the best relationships."

They've turned down the hallway to the office, arms full of discarded jackets, hats, and scarves.

"I've never found success in the friends then relationship thing," Cameron says. "It always fails."

But Harding's not listening. Chase is standing outside, leaning on the orange wood of the wall, phone pressed to his ear. He's rubbing the stubble on his chin. His hair looks like he's been running a hand through it, and his tie is askew.

"Yeah, yeah.…no, I'll try and get a flight out tonight, be there tomorrow evening."

"Hey, Allison, can you take my jacket?" It's the clearest way Harding can think to say _Go inside. Let me handle this. _'This' being the expression on Chase's face.

"Yeah, sure." With a worried look, Cameron hurries inside.

"No, the only other is my sister. I'm not sure how to- yeah that'd be great. Thanks." He snaps his phone shut and stares at Harding. She's straightening his tie. It's one of the ridiculous ones he got for Christmas, covered in a hideous magenta paisley.

"You right?"

"No." He sniffs. "I uh, I've got to go to Melbourne. My dad…he's uh…he died, last night."

"Oh. God." She takes his hand in both of hers. "I'm so sorry."

"Lung cancer, stage four." he looks down at her, not seeing anything. "I've got to go find a ticket, try to call Molly, but-"

"But you can't think?" She kisses his hand. "I'm going to go find you a ticket. You are going to try and call Molly, but if you can't find her, don't worry and instead call someone at your dad's church to help with the funeral arrangements. I'm assuming that was his lawyer?"

"Someone at the hospital."

"Okay, after that call his lawyer, you're going to want to get all his assets straightened out while you're over there. All right?" she rubs his hand. "And I am right here, and you can call me at anytime."

"Right. Okay." he takes a deep breath. "Molly, then."

She leans up to squeeze him tightly. "I know it feels numb, but it'll all be okay. I promise."

He buries his face in her hair. "I wish you could come with me."

"I know, love. But like I said, only a phone call away."

She cries that night, hugging Winnie.

"What's wrong, Mummy?"

"Nothing's wrong, lovey. Don't worry about it." She doesn't cry for Rowen, but for Robert.

He comes back five days later, too tired to do anything but lean his forehead up against hers, their heads on the same pillow. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Talking me through things."

"I'm sorry that I had to at all."

"I'm sorry you knew how to."

"We got fucked over in life." she blinks sleepily, having trouble re-opening her eyes. "But we have each other." she scoches a little to kiss his forehead. "Come on. Let's just go to sleep."

"Don't have to tell me twice." he lifts his arm so she can roll over, snuggling back against him. "Do I have to wake up in the morning?"

"It's easier when there's two of us."


	24. Chapter 24

"Mummy?"

"Win?" Robert lies awake, listening to the swish of the fan. Wally is asleep next to him, arm thrown over her face. "What's wrong?" he struggles up as the dark shape of the girl shuffles towards him.

"I had a bad dream," she sniffs.

"Oh, come 'ere," he grabs her and lifts her up onto the bed. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I dreamed that you and mummy were gone."

"Well we're right here," he reassures her awkwardly. "It's okay."

Wally opens an eye sleepily. "Just go to sleep Winnie. We're right here."

"Mummy I was scared."

"Nothing's gonna happen sweetheart, I promise. I'm right here." she pulls the girl down to sleep next to her, in between the two of them. "Nothing's gonna happen."

Winnie's breathing slows as she drifts back to sleep.

The fan swirls endlessly overhead, the song of an insomniac.

"She cried a lot as a baby," Wally whispers after awhile, voice a harsh gash in the silence. "I finally just started sleeping with her in the bed; it was easier than getting up a million time a night."

"Can I ask you something?"

"It's three in the morning, I'll answer anything."

"Don't get mad," he warns.

"Too fucking sleepy to get mad."

"Why'd you keep her? I mean, I can see why now, but if you'd've told me at the time you were…you had so much to do." he's never asked her before, not so forthright.

"I wasn't exactly stable, if you'll remember. And I wasn't happy with how I was living. I just…knew that I needed her. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Robert chuckles. "I can't even imagine what you looked like pregnant."

Wally mumbles something as she drifts off, arms wrapped around Winnie.

* * *

Grey light filters through early morning leaves, combining with tired streetlights to cast faint shadows beneath Bowen's feet.

She counts as she breathes. _In two three four, out two three four. _Robert's neighbourhood is more fun to run through in the mornings, especially now that the trees have filled out. There's a peace to running, she leaves her worries far behind, loud rap blaring through earbuds. Robert and Winnie will be waking up soon, him stirring, confused at first until he remembers through the haze of sleep where Wally goes and why Winnie is in the bed. But lately, as she's run, her chest has been feeling tighter. Inactivity, she tells herself, not enough running during the winter. It's as if her lungs cannot expand, she can only breathe shallowly no matter how hard she tries.

_I fucking hate cardio. _

Her phone buzzes at her hip, breaking her rhythm as she steps to a stop, collapsing on someone's front steps. Pulling out her earbuds, she can hear herself wheezing just as it did that one day in the fall. She'll wait for it to relax before going back - it would worry Robert. Instead, she grabs her phone from her waistband and flips it open, scowling at the caller-id.

"What?"

"I need money." the voice crackles over the speaker. The accent is broader than hers and slurred from an evening of drinking.

"It's only 8.30 there," she snaps (or tries too, she's still breathing in gasps), "at least wait till ten to get drunk enough to call me."

"Ungrateful bitch. You sound outta breath. Morning delight?"

"I was out running. I'm going to go back to that now."

"How's the little bastard-child? I hear you're back to dating that doctor. Always were a gold-digging slut-"

She hangs up quickly, but not before a familiar feeling of anxiety falls into her throat. It's not the usual kind, but one cultivated through childhood, through high school and her early years boarding, through Gage calling her names, and Winnie being born. _Just a slut from Lake Heights. _

"Fuck!" she squeaks, trying to control her heart rate and breathe deeply. "Fucking fuck fuck fuck!"

Once her breathing has calmed sometime later, she returns to the apartment.

She hears Winnie wailing through the door, and shoves it open. "It huuuuuurts!"

"I know it does, Win, just here-" Robert looks up at Bowen in distress.

"What happened?" she asks calmly, kneeling by the two of them.

"She touched the stove when I wasn't-"

"Oh, poor lovey," Bowen croons. "Let me see."

"It hurts."

"I know, Winnie. That's why we don't touch the stove, right? The stove burns." she kisses the white blister swelling on Win's fingers. "Are you a doctor or not?" she snaps at Robert. "Get some ice."

Their utopia cracks with that statement. Bowen lives with the knowledge that her father is right; he's always been right. She should have listened to him to begin with. The next few days are tense; Bowen doesn't answer questions, just breathes to quickly and sits too often with her face in her elbows, nails curling into the back of her neck. After awhile, Robert stops asking what's wrong, and gets angry.

"It's too fucking hot for this Bowen!"

"Then fucking let it go!" They're walking to Bo's flat, Winnie trailing behind, slightly confused. It's late June, and the afternoon sun is like an oven, amplifying a bad day at work and already high tensions. A patient's dead, Robert blames himself, and House is only too happy to oblige.

"Look, Bo," he says as she unlocks the door and herds Winnie inside. The light slants onto the landing where they're standing, soaking them both in sweat.

"I'm sorry about today, yeah?" she cuts him off almost nervously. "House is a c-nt, you know it wasn't your fault."

He stares down at her; she's not even looking at him, because she knows if she does, she'll see that look of surprised irritation that makes him lick his lips and restart. "Stop trying to change the subject."

She shakes her head. "I'm just…trying to help, I'm not-"

"Well why don't you try helping yourself for once, then?"

The concrete wall is simmering against her back, and she starts closer to it at his tone. A crease appears between her eyebrows, mouth opening slightly. "What do you mean?"

He scoffs, stepping back. The words that come out of his mouth maybe something like "what more can I do to convince you that I love you?" but all Bowen hears is a glowing opportunity that fuels her need to run - from the anxiety, from the guilt of her reliance on him, from wounded pride. It's built into the soles of her feet, the need to be independent, to fly away, hands gripping her kite, feet firmly on the board. But more than that, she knows when she's holding other's back, and she hates being that kind of indebted.

She never stops to think that all acrobats have a safety net.

"Maybe you should just stop, then." leaning up, she lays her cheek on his for a brief moment before dashing inside, leaving him standing, shocked in the heat.


	25. Chapter 25

Work is uncomfortable. Harding won't look at him, and whenever he tries to nab her in the corridor, she runs away.

"Trouble in paradise?" House asks.

"In Aus?" she responds sweetly. "Yeah, you seen our PM?"

When Cameron asks Chase what happened, he shrugs. "Dunno."

A week later, Harding hands House an envelope.

"What's this?" He turns it over, pulls out a short letter.

"My notice. I gave one to Cuddy as well."

"Where are you going?"

"Got a job with the city working with troubled adults."

"Pays even less than this."

"I'll manage."

Chase watches the whole exchange silently. No one notices the thin red scabs on the inside of her upper arm.

Winnie is upset some days. "Mummy, where's Robert?"

"He's not coming here anymore lovey." Bowen scrapes a fried egg and some cabbage from the frying pan into a bowl of rice.

"Why not?"

"He and I had a fight." It's Winnie's birthday, and two chocolate cupcakes sit on the table along with a small wrapped package. "Eat your supper, Win," she says, trying to sound jovial. "Then you can open your present!"

Bowen herself eats less and exercises more; it doesn't get easier, the wheezing continues, longer each time, but she goes still - sit-ups, squats, anything until her muscles scream, pain making her less anxious, at least for a little while. The hours at her new job are hard, talking down schizophrenics and helping abused women. She doesn't like it, but she's good at it; the paperwork is deadly.

She misses Robert. Everyday like a constant ache behind the sharp anxiety. ("Bupropion's for depression," a coworker tells her. "You need to get your prescription changed." what Robert had told her for months, but now more than ever there's no money for a doctor's visit.) Even though it's summer, there's a bit of golden lost from her life, slipped from between her fingers. She curls into herself at night, wondering - in her half asleep haze - why the other side of the bed is so cold. The bones of her wrists come back, iliac crests poke from her skin, spine once more like a mountain range. Winnie eats apple and peanut butter, and Bo steals bites of her macaroni, smiling the whole time.

She ignores the calls from her father, and wishes for Robert.

Her phone buzzes one day as she slows in front of her staircase, waving at the kids on the curb. A 'Gong number - not her father's, not from one of his usual bars. She can hardly breath, collapsing onto the step as she answers.

"'lo?"

"Bowen Harding?"

Gasp. "Speaking."

"This is Sara Fischer at Shellhabour Public Hospital. I'm very sorry to tell you that your father, Greg Harding, was admitted earlier with a heart attack, and passes away about half an hour ago."

Bowen chokes for air. "What?"

"Your father is dead."

The phone drops from her hand. Her heart is racing, blood stomping through her ears. Seven then six then five then four three two now one. Just one. One little girl sitting on a step thousands of miles from home all alone with no one left in her family. She can't breathe, the kids on the curb stand in concern.

"Miss, you okay?"

She doesn't answer, just tries to force her lungs to open. No one left. Nothing but empty beer bottles and burned-to-ashes joints, orange containers of pills lying next to a cold hand, a scale with thirty-nine kilos and a gun at a temple. She can't feel the waves anymore when she thinks of them only cold flat water like a bottomless lake trying to swallow you whole - she feels like she's breathing in water.

A woman has come down the stairs, a neighbour with a head full of braids. "She all right?"

"I don't think she's breathing."

"Call an ambulance!" A kid whips out a cell phone.

Bowen breaths in the water, but her chest is filled with sand packed in too tight around her lungs, cementing them into shape. Six headstones six urns six plaques six funerals she stopped crying after the third, stopped crying the kind of tears that make it feel like you can't breathe why can't she breathe.

"Bowen, right?" One of the kids, no more than fifteen, crouches in front of her. "It's all right. You'll be fine. EMS are on their way." His skin is dark, smooth like the lake she's drowning in.

"She's got a kid, doesn't she?" the lady asks above her.

_Winnie._ Winnie with small arms and small hands and smooth wrists with no bones jutting out of them. Winnie with soft hair and kind eyes and a silly accent.

The kid rubs her arm. "It's all right, just breathe."

She stares at him, hazel irises dim. She blinks, eyes full of panic, then goes limp. He hardly has time to catch her before she cracks her head on the stairs.

_"Do you know what one of my favorite memories of you is?" They're lying nose to nose in bed, both grinning absurdly. _

_ "No," Wally bites her lip mischievously. "Is it dirty?" _

_ His hand sneaks around to her ass. "Yes." she laughs loudly at his tone. _

_ "Tell me." _

_ The hand stays were it is. "D'you remember that day after we came back from Rio when we got super high? When I went out to the store to get beer and shit-" _

_ "-because we had no food. I remember you were to stoned to pick up anything but crumpled violets and milo." _

_ "Yeah, but do you remember what happened while I was gone?" _

_ "Not a fucking clue." She presses the side of her face into the pillow, loving staring at him. The silver light of an overcast afternoon plays off his skin, ringing him in a peaceful halo._

_ "You apparently got a little bored waiting for me," Robert teases. "Because I came back into the bedroom to find you, hand between your legs, just-" he kisses her neck "-about-" another one, lower "-to come-" and another, right between her breasts. _

_ "So what did you do?" she prods, running a hand over his hair. _

_ "What any gentleman would do: I helped you." he kisses her none-to-precisely, with all the delicious sloppiness of a lazy afternoon twined together. Wally looses herself for a while, in absolute joyful bliss that fills her up. As if sensing her contentment, Robert smiles against her mouth. _

_ "What?" _

_ She blinks lazily. "Nothing. I just love you." _

_ "Hmmm," he hugs her close, touching their foreheads. "I love you too." They doze off like that, close, happy, and glowing._


	26. Chapter 26

Bowen wakes slowly, not opening her eyes. She's lying on her back - _strange_ - and the sheets feel odd against her skin. Something -_ an alarm clock? _- beeps next to her. Everything is blue when she opens her eyes - blue walls, blue sheets on the edge of her vision. Even Robert is wearing a blue button down, sitting in a chair, feet propped on the bed frame, pencil tapping his teeth as he considers the crossword puzzle.

"Robert," her throat is dry, hardly allowing sound.

"'Fellow,' four letters, starts with 'c' - and it's not our favorite word."

"Chap," she croaks. "Robert what happened? Where's Winnie?"

He tosses the book onto the bed near her feet. "I put her to sleep in the office. She's fine. Your neighbour brought her here." His tone is cool, though the intended affect is offset by concern.

"What happened." She accepts the cup of water from him, drinking gratefully.

"You," he says, helping her sit up, "had an asthma attack. And your BMI is way lower than it should be."

"…asthma? I don't have…" her mind is still cloudy.

The bed squeaks as he sits. "Made worse by panic. It's pretty common, you can't breathe, and then you can't breathe more. What?" She's looking at him strangely, as if waking up from a terrible dream.

"My dad's dead. That's why I was panicking." her shoulders start to rise faster as she remembers.

"Bo- Bowen, look at me." He grabs her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You've got to stay calm, all right? Your lungs don't need anymore pressure right now. Right, come here." He pulls her head down onto his shoulder and rubs circles onto her check. "It's okay, Bo. It's all okay." he keeps his eyes on the monitor until her heart rate slows.

She pulls away suddenly, turning her head to hide tears. "I'm fine. Tell me about this asthma. I didn't think adults could get asthma."

"Adult-onset. They're gonna run a methacholine test to be sure."

"Who's 'they?'"

"House. He was in the OR as they brought you in."

"Hardly seems too diagnostic."

Robert raises his eyebrows in agreement. He runs his thumb over the now white scars on the inside of her right arm.

"Please don't."

"You need to stop giving me new places to kiss."

With that simple, brightly-said statement, every bit of her carefully woven tapestry unravels. She slumps, filled with gasping sobs. Tears mottle her face, red colours her skin sloppily, in patches.

"I'm sorry," she gulps. "I'm sorry."

"Wally, calm down." Robert's gaze jumps to the monitor. "Wally, I need you to breathe for me." He jumps off the bed, lying her down.

Her throat constricts around itself, and she tries to breathe. A nurse runs in.

"What's wrong?"

"O2 stats are dropping. She's having another attack. Push theophylline."

"Did you upset her?"

"Push the fucking theophylline! Bowen - you have got to calm down!"

The medicine makes her lungs loosen a little, but she still can't breath properly.

"Bo, close your eyes." she obeys. "Think of that day in the park with Winnie. Think of all the flowers she brought you, yeah? And how you braided her hair? That's right, just breathe."

Bo opens her eyes, still breathing hard. With Robert staring down at her, she's threatened to start crying again, but he makes a mock-threatening face, and she gives a watery laugh.

The nurse looks between them warily. "Dr House told me to kick you out if you made her upset."

Robert holds his hands up in defeat, retrieving the crossword book and settling into the chair. "Won't happen again. Scout's honor." He gives his good-boy smile, and the nurse leaves.

"Is this how it's going to be every time I get upset?" she croaks.

"You're body is still vulnerable from the first attack. After you get better, you'll have an inhaler, and we'll get you on some buspirone for your anxiety."

"What caused it?"

"The asthma? Dunno. Your flat's kinda dingy. There's probably mold somewhere."

"How come Win's not sick?"

"Everyone's different. Look, Wal, we need to talk."

She ducks her head, feigning innocence. "About what?"

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Bowen, I need you to trust me."

The waffle-stitched blanket crinkles in and out beneath her curling fingers. "I do trust you."

"You always know that you love me, but I don't think you trust that I love you."

The heart monitor beeps. A cart rattles by. Somewhere, a code is called and nurses and doctors run to a bedside.

"I don't remember the last time said that to me."

Robert raises his eyebrows. "I do. That morning when I left for work. I wanted to tell you right when I saw you again."

Wally gives a blustering sight and rakes a hand through her hair, tears prick her eyes. "We are so dysfunctional."

"Hard to keep a machine going when a piece is broken and refuses to let herself get fixed."

"She doesn't want the other pieces to have to stop."

"I want to hit you every time you say that. I'd rather take care of you than anyone here," he gestures around. "Better yet, I'd rather you stop caring so much about others and take care of yourself. Everyone else you had to labour over is gone, Wally. You're free."

She closes her eyes, feeling a knife in her heart. "I don't want to be."

"They want you to take care of yourself. Let me take care of you. I don't mind, Wally! I love it!"

"Why?"

He scoffs. "I dunno, a thousand reasons. Because I like being the only one that sees your hair down. I like your stupid smile after sex. I like you doing my crossword puzzles. Choose anything and that's why I do it."

"I don't smile stupidly."

"You do," he says firmly. "and it's my favorite smile."

They sit in the silence for a long time, exhaustion dragging at their eyes. Finally, Wally speaks. "It makes me feel useless."

"Do you remember the day my dad died?" he asks. "You'd hardly gotten out of bed that day. Didn't want to even go to lunch with Cameron because you said you couldn't breathe, but then you came back and you helped me, and it was like your problems didn't exist. And everyday you take care of Winnie like everything's fine, she never sees you without a smile. Just because you need someone to take care of you too doesn't make you useless, and neither does the anxiety. Not even a little bit Wal."

She stares at him, cheeks damp. "I love you. And I'm sorry for everything. But I love you."

He chuckles finally at her stumbling words, and leans forward to kiss her. "Go to sleep and get better so we can pretend like the last month didn't happen."

"I hate my job." she mutters, half-asleep already.

"We'll get Cuddy to hire you back. The new guy's a drongo."


	27. Epilogue

_In 500 words or less, discuss your personal hero: _

_I remember when my mother had her first (and thankfully last) big asthma attack. I woke up to a neighbor I'd never seen before shaking me, taking me to the hospital. My father put me to sleep in an office and I couldn't see her till the next morning. There's something disconcerting about seeing someone you love in a hospital. Looking back on it, I realize how sick she really was - not just the asthma - how thin she'd gotten to let me eat. No matter how bad things were, she always took care of me with a smile. _

_ If the apocalypse comes tomorrow, my mother is the lady to beat it. Anyone who survives what she's gone through and still gets out of bed to face the world is nothing short of spectacular. Not to mention I've heard stories of her breaking a man's jaw in a pub fight. _

Winnie re-reads the essay and sighs, chucking it across the room and into the bin. She'd just write about some imaginary person; easier to make someone up then to try and communicate her feelings. She pushes back her chair and checks her reflection in the mirror: thick hair tied back in a straw-colored bun, ocean coloured eyes. She's tall, athletic, nothing like her mother's tiny frame.

Her parents are at the kitchen table, making a grocery list. Windows and doors are flung open, and warm morning air shines through. It's salty with the beach across the street, golden with summer. The scene is comfortingly familiar: Robert, his short hair and sloppy tie, getting ready for work at Sydney Hospital, and Bowen, hair dripping water from her early lesson. They're still young, only forty, but you'd guess they were younger, the way they laugh and smile at each other, like some couple that just met.

Bo looks up to see Winnie paused on the stairs. "Morning lovey! Anything from the market?"

"Can you get some Solo?"

"Get anything done on that essay?" Robert asks.

"Yeah, but I didn't like it." Win saunters over to the fridge, deciding on a bunch of grapes. "I'll do it when I get home, right?"

"Not to worried," he says, grinning, snagging a grape.

"Winifred Chase: terrible students, shame of her parents," Bo laments with a wink. "Who all's going then?"

Winnie rolls her eyes. "Jess, Justin, guy Sam, girl Sam, and Bailey."

"Stay safe. There's a bit of a current today."

"Yes mum." she kisses both their heads. "Love you."

"You too."

"Love ya Win."

They watch her walk out the door and head across to the beach.

"You going now, then?" Robert asks, gesturing to the list. "Or you want me to come?"

"You wanna come?"

"I always want to come."

Bo kicks him under the table, smiling. "Liar."

"You're blushing! I can make you blush more if you want."

"Fucking- go to work! Diagnose some people!"

"All right." He stands. "Come here, then."

They hug like they do everyday, close and long, her cheek on his neck, his in her hair. "I love you."

"Mm. Love you too."


End file.
